


Bridget's Collection  - Unexpected Dinner and others

by Minniebinnie



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fridget
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-09 12:14:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6906643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minniebinnie/pseuds/Minniebinnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of stories from Bridget's Point of View based on scenes from each episode. Chapters 1-7 are written during Season 4. Chapters 8 onwards are written during Season 5</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Unexpected Dinner

As Bridget lay in bed, she couldn’t help but smile as she reflected over the event that was dinner. She had to give it to Franky – constantly testing the boundaries as she forced Vera to interact with her with her requests for the salad and the pepper. Even the look that Bridget shot Franky’s way didn’t dampen her spirit.

Bridget then thought of her conversation with Franky outside, having not been able to reach her for twenty four hours. It had been one night without Franky and already Bridget did not know how this new arrangement would work – they would have to make it work. There was no way she was going to place Franky in the position where she may be sent back to Wentworth. Not now, when Franky had worked so hard to get to where she was. But Bridget’s desire was also self motivated. Whilst having Franky as a partner had its difficulties and challenges, never had she felt so loved and so accepted by anyone than Franky. Despite their differences – age, background, education. They worked. They just clicked and when Bridget was with Franky she felt that she belonged nowhere else.

As Bridget and Franky had stood, heads together, she could feel the tears trickle down her face – whose tears they were exactly she didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. Any pain Franky felt, she felt too. 

Heads touching, for how long, Bridget can’t remember. Both she and Franky were startled by a little head peeping out from behind the door. “Umm… Bridget” Vera nervously said, eyes darting to the ground. “Oh hello Franky” she said, as she shot a look Franky’s way, to which Franky replied “Miss Bennett… oh hi…I mean Vera”.

“Umm Bridget.,,, “ Vera started again “I’m just not sure what you want to do with the dinner.. should I take it out of the oven?..”

“Dinner…” Franky said and smiled as she pretended to sniff the air. “Smells good whatever you’ve been cooking in there Gidge” and she shot a wink Bridget’s way. Vera’s eyes narrowed as she seemed to study Franky. 

Bridget noticed a softening in Vera's demenour. Had Bridget looked inside whilst she was talking to Franky, she would have seen Vera, quietly observing the two of them talking… not able to hear the content of their conversation but from their body language it was evident to Vera that this was no game. This was no cheap thrill. This was not just a convenient fuck. Bridget and Franky were in love and loved each other. 

“Well you may as well stay for dinner Doyle… seeing that you are here”, Vera blurted out. Bridget went to interject but stopped herself, interested to see how the dynamic between the two of them would play out. 

“Well, don’t mind if I do Vera… Thanks” Franky responded.

“Anyway” Vera remarked, Bridget and I have something we’d like to discuss with you.

Lying there Bridget smiled as she replayed the look on Franky’s face as she followed Vera inside and Bridget remembered a little panic overtaking her. How would Franky cope having dinner with Vera? Would she say something to her about confronting Bridget?

She needn’t have worried. As rough around the edges Franky was, her table manners were sometimes non-existent, she was welcoming and polite to Vera as she moved swiftly around the kitchen finishing off the dinner preparations whilst Bridget set the table. Bridget remembered how at this point, a pang hit her in the stomach as she again realized the little domestic life that Franky and herself had made over the last four months was no longer… at least for a while, whilst Franky moved out and found her own two feet. 

Bridget again made a mental note to check Franky’s parole conditions and the length of time she was to continue to report to her parole officer and for how long she was required to advice the parole board of her residential address. 

That may, or may not, however be relevant she thought. It might be that Franky preferred to live on her own, Bridget tried not to think about it too much. As much as she was besotted by the brunette and adored waking up to her every morning - she was a realist. 

If Franky was going to survive on the outside and their relationship was to survive it was important that they took this step now. A smile now crept across Bridget’s face as she thought just about how far Franky had come both since she had met her captivating partner in Wentworth and since she had been released.

She couldn’t help feeling proud – but not in the kind of way she was proud of her patients as a psychologist but in a heart bursting, warm and tear brimming kind of way.

As her thoughts continued to drift she remembered that she hadn’t told Franky of Vera’s intention to recommend her dismissal. After their dinner though, she assumed that this was no longer the case. Bridget considered whether she would tell her later – she knew that Franky had felt completely responsible for Bridget’s first dismissal from Wentworth and didn’t want to burden her (at least at this point) with the possibility again. We will deal with that if and when we need to, as Bridget filed that thought away.

She glanced at the clock…. 1.54. She was still not asleep. She had stayed up late to finish some work and to prepare for her session with Joan Ferguson the following day. Not having slept a wink the night before, Franky had gone to bed early before Bridget and when Bridget had finally finished her work, Franky was sound asleep.

Bridget now let out a deep sigh and rolled over to face the brunette whom she was utterly in love with. She was surprised when her eyes met Franky’s and they were open…. Franky let out a chuckle. 

“I thought you were asleep my darling” Bridget murmured to Franky, “How long have you been awake?”.

“Long enough to watch you Gidge…. Jesus… what is going on in that mind of yours… Anything you want to talk about?” Franky said playfully, using one of Bridget’s favorite phrases she had often directed Franky’s way when she could see Franky was wrestling with something in her mind, but yet she did not want to force the issue - for which Franky was always grateful.

Bridget raised her eyebrows in anticipation of responding to Franky, but before she had a chance. Franky leaned in and touched her lips against Bridget’s. A shot of electricity surged through Bridget as she kissed Franky with fervor. 

Franky pulled away slightly, “Jesus Gidge… did you miss me that much last night?”. Bridget didn’t respond and instead answered by pulling Franky’s head closer to hers and they kissed again. A kiss of longing, a kiss of desire and of uninhibited love. 

“I missed you too Gidge” Franky whipered…”I’ll show you how much…”.


	2. Burdened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been written after Season 4 Episode 3, but before Episode 4.

As Bridget pulled up into the driveway, she noticed there was a light on inside, but Franky’s car was not in the street where it was usually parked. Bridget made a mental note to close the shutters when she got inside – there was a clear view from the street right into the living room and kitchen.

It was nearly six o’clock and Bridget sighed as she turned off her car engine and grabbed her clear work bag from the boot. 

She opened the front door and dumped her bag on the couch. As she walked over to the windows and closed the shutters she thought that she must have just missed Franky, who was going to be out for the night attending her first community legal service night. Whilst she had not yet started at Legal Relief, part of her job involved assisting at the community legal service nights that were held on the first Thursday of every month. Tonight was an opportunity for her to see it in action before she started work the following week.

The house smelt delicious. Franky - bless her, thought Bridget - must have cooked dinner before she left. As she put her keys down next to the fruit bowl on the island bench, she let out another big sigh – the size of which took her by surprise. Her day hadn’t been overly difficult - no more draining than usual - but Bridget just wasn’t feeling right and if she was honest with herself, she hadn’t for a few days. She paused by the bench, her hand moving to the back of her head where she rubbed a tight spot in her neck. As she she bent down to unzip her boots, she spied a note on the kitchen bench.

“Gidge,  
Have made us dinner. The lamb shanks have been slow cooking all afternoon, you just need to warm them in the oven (should take about half an hour). There is mash and broad beans in the fridge too – they just need heating. Should be home just after 9 but don’t wait for me to eat.  
Franky x"

Bridget smiled as she read Franky’s note, the words coming to life as Franky’s voice in her head. She loved that she and Franky were an “us”.

Coming home to an empty house seemed too quiet, yet she had lived alone and had come home to the same house for many years before Franky Doyle had spun into her life like a tornado. Whilst she had been used to being alone and in her own company, she never felt lonely. Even since Franky’s release they had spent nights apart. But now, it felt different.

She glanced at the clock and decided she would take a shower before thinking about dinner. As Bridget let the water flow over her, she tried to wash away the events of the day and to unpack why she was feeling the way she was.

Bridget could not put her finger on what was going on, except that the single thought of “burdened” flashed in her mind. But what was it exactly…. burdened by all of the shit she was dealing with at Wentworth – trying to remain objective in treating Kim Chang as she continued to hurl her poisonous vitriol at Bridget session after session. Trying to regain trust and her relationship with Vera after Vera was no doubt devastated with Bridget’s lie by omission about her relationship with Franky. Perhaps, Bridget thought it was the ever-present worry that someone would find out about Franky’s confession to her about murdering Meg Jackson. 

Managing Ferguson in general was also certainly presenting its challenges as well. Even though she had only been in the general population a few days, she had already been assaulted, which appeared to be an assault she had engineered on herself. The prison had an uneasy pressure cooker feel and the staff were just waiting for something to happen – a riot, a shiv or an attempt on her life.

She abruptly turned off the water in attempt to short circuit the whirlwind that was in her head. Putting on some comfortable clothes, she headed back into the kitchen and took a wine glass from the cupboard. She wandered over to the wine rack, where a small post it note on the end of the bottle again caught her eye. She bent down to pick up the bottle and read the note….“Choose me… I’ll go well with dinner x”. Despite the way she was feeling, a little smile escaped her mouth.

Franky had thought of everything and knew Bridget so well. Bridget twisted the lid off the Rockford Basket Press Shiraz and poured herself a glass. She took both her glass and the bottle and wandered over to the couch. As she sat back and let her head relax into cushions, she was reminded of her love of the famous vineyard in the Barossa region in South Australia – Rockford winery - where the wine had been made. She hoped one day to take Franky there. Whilst the wineries were worth the visit themselves, the surrounding countryside and rolling hills of vineyards were spectacular along with the character B and B’s that were nestled within the landscape. "But not until Franky’s parole condition of leaving the state was lifted", Bridget thought, snapping herself out of her fantasy of taking Franky away.

As she sighed again, her mind turned to how she was feeling. “Was it her relationship with Franky??”… After all, she had lost her job once and nearly a second time as a result and had also nearly lost a friend in Vera. 

Her socializing and contact with her friends had to be curtailed since Franky’s release from Wentworth and was limited only to Bridget’s closest and most trusted friends for fear of their relationship becoming public. 

There was also the constant fear that she would be reported for breaching her code of conduct for having a relationship with a former patient. And then add onto that, her absolute fear that Franky would be sent back to Wentworth for breach of her parole. 

Whilst the longer Franky had been out of Wentworth, the less she worried about Franky breaching her parole, there was always that niggling thought in Bridget’s mind that Franky might just snap. She he was far from that angry ant that had stormed into one of her group therapy sessions in Wentworth those many months ago, but Bridget worried that she wasn’t there yet. She was a work in progress – Bridget had, after all, herself told the parole board exactly that in support of Franky’s release from Wentworth.

Bridget shook her head at the mini inventory of the things she had going. “No wonder I’m feeling the way I am” she thought to herself.

Bridget then thought back to the previous day when Franky had picked her up from work. As she walked towards the car, her stomach tingled as she heard Franky playfully say “Hey spunky”, but as she got into the car she knew immediately that something wasn’t right with Franky.

She had spent years learning how to read people, their body language, their facial expressions and their eyes. The little things they did or didn’t do that would betray their words. It was the subtle nuances that often said more. As she got into the car, she felt a wave of panic come over her. Franky had a look of uneasiness about her and Bridget immediately jumped to conclusions in her head.

“Relax” the voice in Bridget’s head said to herself … “Just ask her what is wrong”, Bridget felt like her mind was spinning as she sat opposite the whirlwind that was Franky. 

She asked Franky if she was alright, almost not wanting to hear the answer. Then there were the words that escaped from her usually composed and measured mouth… “we aren’t breaking up are we???”, her voice laced with self doubt and vulnerability. 

She recalled the absolute relief she felt when she heard Franky’s playful response “Defs not” as she flashed her trademark smile at Bridget. Bridget’s heart was was hammering; she breathed faster than usual as Franky explained to her that she needed to move out. She found the psychologist in her responding … “sounds like a breakthrough to me”. At the time she hadn’t realized, but she had switched into therapist mode. Was it to continue to provide Franky with the support she needed, or was it more to protect herself? - Bridget now wondered.

As she took another sip of wine, she tried to make sense of her thoughts. Since Franky’s release, she knew Franky had struggled in not wanting to lean on Bridget but the reality was, she needed too and she had done so. Perhaps it was this constant support that had worn her down to some extent. She was always conscious not to make Franky seem like she was in a therapy session when Franky wanted to open up to her about something, but the level of training she had done and experience she had made it unavoidable at times. Sometimes Bridget put so much effort into turning off her professional way of thinking or at least concealing it from Franky that doing so in itself was exhausting. 

If she was honest with herself, their relationship probably had a bit more work to do before it completely moved away from the psychologist-patient relationship. But then again, her background in psychology enriched many of Bridget’s friendships and relationships – it was just an integral part of who she was. But having initially had a patient-therapist relationship, it blurred the boundaries, “Which is why”, Bridget thought to herself “those fucking conduct rules are in place”.

Bridget couldn’t deny the fact that she continued to be at risk of being reported for breach of the Australian Psychological Society Code of Ethics, which prohibited her from having a sexual relationship with any person whom she had treated as a patient for two years since the conclusion of that relationship. Even then there were further hoops to jump through involving counseling and further box ticking. She still had a bit less than 18 months before that restriction was no longer applicable, counting back to the last time that she saw Franky formally before transferring her care to the external psychologist at Wentworth.

On the one hand, it didn’t sit well with Bridget that she was blatantly flouting the code of ethics. As a well-respected and experienced psychologist, she knew would not be considered favorably by the Psychology Board nor would she be given any leniency if she was reported. 

On the other hand, she was more than prepared to run that gauntlet. By Franky moving out, the risk of Franky breaking parole due to her living arrangements was resolved. But it still did not eliminate the risk for Bridget professionally. That was a risk she was willing to take. At least if she was to fall, she would not be taking Franky down with her.

As she picked up the ipad on the coffee table and tapped the numerical password out, the Real Estate app filled the screen. Franky and Bridget had talked about where Franky would look – she wanted something in a similar area to Bridget (which was hard to find given Franky’s budget) but also not too far from the Legal Relief office. 

She had also checked the definition of residence as set out in Franky’s terms of parole against the guidelines issued by the Parole Board. It didn’t mean that Franky couldn’t stay at her house – she just had to maintain what was referred to as a “Principal Place of Residence” at the address set out in the terms of her Parole Agreement. It was quite easy to change the address – she had looked into it and from what Franky had said, her parole officer was easy going and supportive so changing her registered address wouldn’t be a problem.

As Bridget refilled her glass, she realized how much she didn’t want Franky to move out. She knew that they didn’t have a choice given Franky’s parole and her mind drifted as to whether she had been reckless in letting Franky live there in the first place. 

She also knew Franky needed to move out for her own development. But the simple reality was that she just loved Franky living with her.

As Bridget looked down at the bottle sitting on the coffee table she realized she had drunk more than half of it. What time was it???…. she looked up at the clock…. “shit” she thought… “where had the time gone?”. She hadn’t even started on dinner and jumped up to turn the oven on. If she put it in now, it would be ready just in time for when Franky got home.

She later heard the key in the lock and the unmistakable clomp of Franky’s boots. As she rounded the corner, she shot Bridget one of her stellar smiles and said “Gidget.. been in the kitchen again.. anyone would think you are a chef… or you are fucking one”. 

“Come here you!” Bridget said playfully as she grabbed Franky and pulled her towards her and kissed her hello. God it felt good to see her, Bridget thought. To feel her strong body as she pulled her close and the warmth of her kiss. Bridget realized she felt more fragile than she had in a long time.

She stepped back and looked at Franky, whose eyes were gleaming. “So how was it?” Bridget asked as Franky put bowls in the oven to warm.

“Oh my god Gidge, it was just amazing. Some of the shit these people have got themselves into is just a bloody cracker”. 

Bridget beamed back at Franky, it truly warmed her heart to see Franky directing her passion into something like this. She just had so much potential.

Before Bridget could respond, Franky continued “..and then you’ve also got the uber uptight-ers who are there ‘coz their neighbor’s trees are hanging over their fence and they are acting like it’s the worst fuckin’ thing on the earth … I mean, who gets their knickers in a knot over a few leaves and twigs”. 

Bridget laughed as Franky impersonated one of the people whom she must have come across and responded “I’m sure you’d be surprised Franky, no doubt it’s all relative”.

As Franky took over in the kitchen, she glanced down to the near empty bottle of red wine on the coffee table. “Another hard day Gidge????… or were you just having a bit of a party for one?”. 

Bridget turned her head to the side and deflected the question by responding “I saw you’ve been looking up some places on the ipad – are there any that you think are worth you going to have a look at on the weekend?”. 

“Yeah, there are some. But I think its going to be a matter of us going to check them out….as fuck knows how much they have dressed them up in the description and the photos always make the places look much bigger than they are”.

Bridget immediately held onto the “us” in Franky’s sentence. She hadn’t wanted to interfere too much in the process of Franky looking for a place and thought that it might be something that she wanted to or needed to do on her own. “So you want me to come along with you??” Bridget said, sounding more doubtful and vulnerable than she perhaps intended.

“Yeah…” Franky responded…“Of course I do Gidge… I mean… I’m doing this because I have to because of that shit with my parole conditions … and to also stand on my own two feet a bit… but I’m still here, we are still us”, Franky said as she came up behind Bridget and hugged her, nestling her head into the side of Bridget’s neck.

Bridget felt her neck relax at Franky’s touch and her shoulders instantly sat a little lower as she leaned back into Franky’s hug. She was surprised at just how much she had needed that hug and to be touched by Franky, as well as the simple reassurance that was communicated in Franky’s words. She tilted her head up to meet Franky’s lips. Bridget forgot how much shorter she was than Franky when she didn’t wear heels. 

Franky’s hands on her, Bridget felt Franky spin her around so they were face to face as Franky looked into her eyes. Her touch was so soft as she brushed away a piece of hair from Bridget’s face and tucked it behind her ear as Bridget melted into Franky’s warmth, her attention and her love. It was a side of Franky that showed her true compassion, her support - which, contemplated Bridget, she appeared to be needing from Franky now more than ever.

“Couch or table??”, Franky said softly to Bridget… in reference as to where they were to eat dinner. “Couch” they both said, Franky answering her own question. “OK Gidge, I’m just going to let this sit for a minute”, referring to the dinner Franky had just pulled out of the oven and she started up the hallway yelling behind her … “and I’m gunna go and put my trackies on”. Bridget nodded, as she watched Franky clomping up the hallway, thinking about how on edge she had felt before. 

Maybe it was the wine that had relaxed her. Maybe it was the reassurance from Franky or just Franky being with her. As she cleared away the ipad and another book that was on the coffee table, she wondered if she was carrying too much…most of it, however, was just part and parcel of life as Bridget. 

As Franky came back to the kitchen she collected two bowls, which she then carried over to the couch. “Dinner is served!” she said, smiling warmly at Bridget as she handed her a bowl that both looked and smelled divine. They both sat cross-legged on the couch facing each other and started to eat.

“So tell me more about the night”, Bridget asked as Franky was in the midst of a mouthful.

“Gidge… it was just so cool, and you know what… I could totally see myself doing it. Talking to the people, giving them advice and stuff...”. 

“So can I ... I have always seen it, even when you couldn’t”, Bridget thought silently to herself before returning her attention to Franky’s animated stories as they ate dinner together. 

After finishing dinner and as Bridget went to take Franky's bowl, Franky asked "Gidge are you ok??". Bridget shot a quick smile in Franky's direction but was surprised when Franky didn't let go of her bowl, holding on to it as she waited for Bridget's eyes to meet hers. Once Bridget looked into Franky's eyes, she was met with the question again, "Gidge... I asked if you are ok". 

"Are you going to give me the bowl??" Bridget laughed nervously. "Not until you tell me what's up" Franky responded raising her eyebrows. 

Bridget stood there, silent and felt as if she was on the edge of a precipice. "Hey", Franky said warmly, seeing a side of Bridget with which she was not familiar. "Baby... you can talk to me" taking both her bowl and Bridget's bowl and putting them on the table next to the couch.

Bridget sat back down next to her. "I don't know where to start" Bridget responded. "Start anywhere", Franky said "...and we will just work from there".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the lovely Mimi Torchin and Liron Cohen for the prompt for the title of this chapter -"Burdened" - from their Talking Teal Episode 2! You can check it out here - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N4tRrFkUCmY (you may need to copy and paste the link).


	3. The Technicalities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little fill until we see more of Bridget and Franky. Written in between episodes five and six.

Bridget looked at the clock in her office. It was nearly five and she was done for the day. She lingered around, which she had been doing more and more of since Franky had left. She contemplated whether to cook something for dinner. 

Cooking. Could she be bothered? Franky living with Bridget had meant that Bridget rarely had to think about dinner – being a domain that Franky had taken charge of, both given her natural flair in the kitchen but it was also a way for Franky to feel like she was contributing. Not that Bridget expected or sought that from Franky, but she knew that it was important for her.

Cooking for just herself had never seemed tedious in the past. But it now did. Just like coming home to an empty house had never seemed lonely, but it now did.

As Bridget sat, thumb under her chin and index finger resting on her lips, which were parted slightly, she sighed. Franky had changed her life. But she was giving here the space that she needed. Which their relationship both needed. Bridget knew this, it didn’t make the situation any easier or more livable. 

Bridget had tried to convince herself that it wasn’t that much different to them living together. They still spent a considerable amount of time together, but in reality it just wasn’t the same. 

They were no longer sharing a home together. Before, when they would go about their own thing during the day, their paths would inevitably cross each night. That when Bridget felt worn down or drained, she knew that Franky would be there when she got home; and if not, for dinner; and if not, after dinner; or if not - eventually in bed. Bridget knew that she would finish each day, lying next to Franky. Bridget missed this quiet reassurance. Now, it was different. 

As Bridget sat back in her chair, in a semi slouch, neck slightly stretched so her gaze extended to the ceiling, she thought of Franky. God she just wanted to see her, to be held by her and to hold her, to smell her, to feel the familiar firm pull of Franky’s hand at the nape of her neck as Franky drew her in for a kiss. 

She smiled as she felt a flutter to her stomach and that indescribable feeling of attraction from within. As she shook her head slowly, she marveled at just how important Franky was to her and her life.

Franky had only recently started working at Legal Relief and one of the other paralegals in Franky’s team had asked her along to a session at her cross fit box – which was tonight. 

Bridget remembered Franky asking her what is was… being something that had gained popularity whilst Franky was on the inside, it was all new to Franky. Not ever having been to a session, Bridget thought that she had done a bad job at explaining it... which made Franky all the more intrigued to go along. Bridget also knew Franky needed to make friends independent of her and that working out always good for Franky. But why did it have to be tonight? 

Wentworth continued to drain Bridget – more so than in the past. Working with a prisoner with such psychopathy as Ferguson was certainly challenging. But the challenge for Bridget had more complexities, more layers. Bridget had to summon every ounce of her being not to react to this woman the prisoners referred to as the Freak.

She knew too much about Bridget, which really affected her. Infiltrated her. Got under Bridget’s skin and made it crawl. How she found out about Franky and Bridget was beyond her. Granted, when Ferguson was in protection, it could have been a fortuitous comment made about being able to smell Franky, an attempt to get a reaction from Bridget. As much as it sickened her to hear those breathy words come out of Ferguson’s mouth, at that point she could dismiss it as Ferguson simply playing mind games.

But it was the second time. “How the fuck did she know? ”wondered Bridget. 

Maybe just a guess … but how would she know that Franky had moved out. 

“Where’s Franky??”. The words played on her mind, reverberated like a rhetoric question. 

As Bridget rubbed for forefingers against her thumb as she contemplated whether Ferguson was bluffing her to get a confirmation out of her reaction. She thought about whether Ferguson had a contact on the outside. Anything was possible. But how would the information flow through to her?? Bridget wondered, slightly irritated that her job included thinking about such possibilities.

Bridget was already suspicious of Linda Miles, as she thought back to that day Vera had called a staff meeting after learning of Ferguson’s ganging. All of the officers denied knowing anything about it – one of them must have been lying. She remembered the awkward look on Ms Miles’ face… almost too quick to deny… tense body language…. An uncomfortableness about her. But Bridget didn’t have any more than that to go on. She couldn’t exactly go to Vera with a random hunch, not when she was still trying to rebuild her relationship and credibility with Vera. 

And how had she known about Bridget’s rape. Something so personal, so raw and so devastating to Bridget. Many of her friends didn’t even know about it. Bridget’s breathing paused as she tilted her head to the side to rub a spot at the back of her neck. Franky didn’t even know. Bridget cursed herself for firing back at Ferguson that night, particularly because it seemed to have the desired effect – she played right into Ferguson’s hands. 

Ordinarily, she would never have suggested that anyone staged their own attack – whether Bridget believed it or not. But for as long as Ferguson continued to deny the attack, Bridget continued to challenge her about it. Dealing with a psychopath called for entirely different measures than when treating another patient. 

But that was the thing…. Ferguson was not officially on her docket as a patient. It frustrated the hell out of Bridget in one respect – her assessment having been done at Sinclair and something clearly didn’t add up. Bridget paused… she still hadn’t received the notes she had requested from Ferguson’s treating psychiatrist which had led to her being released to Wentworth. She grabbed a pen and made a note on her post it note and stuck it next to her keyboard to follow up tomorrow.

Ferguson was a master at playing people, she was starting to think that perhaps her treating psychiatrist had fallen victim to another one of her manipulative schemes as Bridget wondered what game Ferguson had played to get to her end game. Ferguson had to win - at whatever she played.

Bridget thought back to the day that she was forced to resign. “It will hurt you”… “those close to you”. It was those latter four words which had sent Bridget’s pulse racing, she remembered the feeling of fear rising in her chest like it was yesterday. Franky. It would hurt Franky.

She recalled how this threat had hit her like a freight train. Her hands were tied. She could not let Ferguson jeopardize Franky’s parole. She was so close. She needed Franky to be ok. 

A wry smile now formed on Bridget’s lips she as remembered how panic stricken she had been and being a bit taken aback by her own response. She had known that she had feelings for Franky, which she had all but admitted to Franky in the kitchen, but it was the threat of Franky losing everything that she had worked for, which made her realize just how intense these feelings were; that she was in love with Franky Doyle.

Ferguson must have known about the two of them. After all, why would an experienced and successful psychologist such as Bridget simply capitulate and do as she wished? It was a strong card to play against Bridget.

And again, now, Bridget was faced with a similar fear. She reassured herself that Franky’s relationship with her did not technically constitute a breach of Franky’s parole - at least on the face of it. 

But she wondered; to what extent was the parole board’s decision to grant Franky parole, a reviewable decision. Her feet, crossed underneath her at her desk tapped against each other in slight agitation that Ferguson seemed to have this power over her.

Surely they would not take freedom away from Franky now. 

Maybe, she thought as she exhaled slowly through pursed lips… just maybe when they find out that the report of her treating psychologist was written by someone who was in love with Franky, who had lost her job for Franky, who was now in a relationship with Franky and whose whole life was now Franky. Maybe they just would.

Even Bridget knew that she would have a hard time convincing anyone that she had no more than a professional interest in Franky being granted parole.

Bridget had contemplated the possibility of coming clean with the Psychology Board, but from what she had read; there really was no grey area. She had also considered getting some advice from a close friend Saskia, a retired District Court judge who sat on the Psychology Board for ten years and had handed down judgments against wayward psychologists for lesser things. 

As Bridget reached down into her bottom draw for her phone to call Saskia, she felt a dull ache in her head. Uggh. A migraine was all she needed right now. 

As she pulled the phone out and the screen lit up, she felt a little flutter in her stomach as she saw she had a message from Franky. She swiped to open it as she read:-

“Gidge, Still going to X Fit but Claire has to help her sister move something straight after so we aren’t going for dinner now. OK if I come over on the way, will probs be just after 7 x ?”

Bridget was filled with a heady rush and smiling, wrote back straight away:  
“Sure baby, I’ll get dinner sorted.”

Bridget’s mood instantly lifted as she sent another message “I can’t wait to see you x G”.

As Bridget’s mind snapped back to the reason she was looking for her mobile in the first place, she searched for Saskia’s number. She sat, with the contact displayed. She hesitated, almost daring herself to dial. “Just fucking call her”, Bridget thought to herself and her finger pressed the call icon.

She waited until eventually voicemail picked up. Bridget again hesitated and almost left it too long before she decided to leave a short message, asking Saskia to call her back.

As she hung up, she instantly regretted leaving the message. Saskia was a dear friend of hers, but things were very black and white is Saskia’s world. Bridget and her hadn’t seen eye to eye on many things over the years, but both being intelligent and strong women, each had accepted each others’ differences and had moved on. 

She was pretty sure Saskia wouldn’t see much of the grey that Bridget had lived whilst Franky was in Wentworth and the even greater shades of grey since Franky had been free.

Bridget's mind then turned to her defence offered to Vera after she had hauled Bridget into the kitchen that day “Nothing has happened between Franky Doyle and I”, technically correct, she hadn’t lied to Vera. But had she lied by omission. 

Nothing had happened, but everything had happened. 

Just moments before, she had been eye to eye with Franky in the library, so close she could hear Franky’s breath and she was sure that Franky could hear her hammering heart. As soon as the words “do you miss me” had escaped Franky’s mouth, Bridget had wanted to take her, to hold her, to kiss her. To tell her that she missed her, that she thought of her, that she was everything to her. Averting her gaze was all she could do to try to stop what was engulfing her thoughts, obscuring her judgment and her ability to be rational.

Bridget remembered the feeling of irony in her statement to Vera… the Nothing that had happened; was everything to Bridget. 

Bridget then thought back to the moment in Vera’s office when Vera had hurled the accusatory statement at Bridget as she spat venom at the woman whom she considered her friend: “You’re having a relationship with Franky Doyle”. 

Again Bridget had been standing opposite Vera, again facing the prospect of losing her job and again, she had offered a defence that was technically correct, but again was it a lie by omission. Yes, their physical relationship hasn’t started until Franky left Wentworth but emotionally, Bridget was involved; was invested long before that.

Whilst Vera would never admit it, Bridget could see how hurt Vera had been by her discovery. Whilst their friendship was not completely in tatters, it was somewhat still in a precarious position. Bridget could sense Vera had put her guard up again, but with good reason Bridget thought, and not unexpected for someone as vulnerable as Vera.

 

Just after seven, Franky let herself into Bridget’s house as she struggled in the door carrying her work bag and a change of clothes. After dropping her keys for what Bridget heard was the second or third time, she went to the door to help Franky.

“My fuckin arms are shaking Gidge” Franky said as she met Bridget at the door, “and my arms legs feel like jelly” she added as she smiled at Bridget whilst she struggled through the door. 

“Well hi there sweaty!” Bridget laughed as she shut the door behind Franky. Franky dropped her things just by the door - something which had initially annoyed Bridget when they first moved in together, but which she had now let go of – and actually missed. Franky pulled Bridget in towards her, laughing as she kissed her hello. 

Bridget could taste the salty sweat on Franky’s face as Franky kissed her. 

“Fuck I’ve missed ya Gidge” Franky said as she held Bridget’s arms. Bridget felt a flutter in the pit of her stomach. 

“It’s only been like a few days… but it felt like fuckin’ forever”. Bridget smiled, warm inside that Franky had the exact same thought that she had earlier.  
Bridget felt damp and looked down and saw that wherever she had been pressed up against Franky, had now left damp sweat marks on her top. 

Franky spied the same thing “Oops, yeah Gidge sorry, I’m a bit sweaty… there are some crazy mother fuckers at that cross fit place” Franky said.

“I mean I worked out in prison and all and used to push myself pretty hard but shit… these people are full on” Bridget couldn’t help but smile at Franky. As they walked towards the kitchen, Franky turned and went back towards the door 

“Gidge”, she called out, slightly muffled as she was bent over looking for something in her work bag.

“Yes my darling” Bridget responded, still amused that Franky called her that – and she thought of the first time she had done so in the library.

“I’ve gotta fill in this form for work about conflict of interest. Everyone who works there has to do one, but I’mmm aa kindda not sure what to do with a few questions” Franky said as she put the bundle down on the table.

“I’ll have a look for you” Bridget responded casually, “Why don’t you go and have a shower. We can chat about it over dinner”. 

“Ohhhh” Franky said as she came up behind Bridget, wrapping her arms around her waist.

“What are we having?” said Franky as she pretended to look around the kitchen, knowing full well that Bridget would have ordered in. 

“Take away” Bridget laughed. “I got your favourite” 

“Thai from Sok’s??” Franky asked excitedly 

“Yes”, Bridget responded. 

“Ohh delicious” Franky said as she licked her lips playfully and headed to the shower.

Bridget poured herself a glass of wine and started thumbing through the form. She saw that Franky had completed most of it, but then noticed a tag next to one question a few pages in. 

She turned to the page and read the question out in her head:

“Do you have any immediate family members or are you in a close personal relationship either now or in the previous 12 months with any person/s who are employees the following organisations”

Simple enough question, Bridget thought. She scanned the list that followed, as she took a sip of wine, until she felt her heart stop when she read the words “Corrections Victoria”.

Bridget swallowed and the words “FUCK” escaped from her mouth. She put the glass down beside her on the table, took a breath and slowly exhaled. She could feel that ache in the back of her neck that was threatening to become a migraine start to rear its ugly head again.

Franky couldn’t lie. She was going to have to tick “Corrections Victoria”. But what flags would that raise? Lots, given it was no secret to anyone at Legal Relief that Franky had served a term in Wentworth and had recently been released. That would no doubt lead to the question of who. Who was Franky Doyle, the paralegal in a relationship with. Who was the employee. It wouldn’t take much to join the dots.

Bridget understood why it was necessary for Legal Relief to under the background conflict of interest check. Whilst extremely unlikely that Bridget would be involved in providing any evaluation for a matter that Franky was involved with, they had an obligation to ensure transparency and objectivity.

The doorbell rang, snapping Bridget out of her thought process that was careering at 50 miles at hour. She went to the door to collect their food.

As Franky wandered towards the kitchen, hair wet from the shower, face still flushed from her workout, she spied the paperwork, which had moved from where she had placed it. Her eyes met Bridget’s.

“Did ya have a look?” she asked expectantly, eyebrows raised and before Bridget could respond added “And.. are we fucked?”. Franky got it. Completely. 

“Well I wouldn’t say WE are fucked”, Bridget responded as she started unpacking their dinner. Franky made a face, waiting for Bridget to continue.. “More like I am fucked” Bridget added.

“Uh Uh Uh” Franky quipped back, “don’t give me any of that shit. WE are in this together and WE will figure it out”. 

Franky walked over and took Bridget’s face in her hands. How the tables had turned thought Bridget. 

“I dunno how the fuck we will… but we will”, Franky tried to reassure Bridget. Bridget’s face must have given away how she was feeling.  
“Gidge…” Franky said, her voice full of love, of care and strength “It’ll be ok” as she pulled Bridget towards her for a long and slow kiss.

After dinner as they sat together on the couch, Bridget leaning back into Franky so that her back was resting against Franky’s chest, Bridget updated Franky on the goings on at Wentworth. Franky asked how the girls were; Bridget’s mood lightened as she told Franky of the preparation that went into Boomer’s conjugal, which had Franky in stitches. Bridget had heard many of the women prisoners talk about it and Bridget had caught the tail end of Boomer’s dance down the hallway. 

“Ahhh Boom Booms…” Franky laughed. 

“You know all she has wanted to do for the past fuckin’ year is have a baby?”. 

Bridget’s eyes widened as she sat forward a bit to glance back at Franky 

“Really…. I’ll just pretend you didn’t tell me that. Vera is going to have her work cut out for her if that happens” Bridget responded.

“Ahh vinegar tits” Franky said, as Bridget let out a disapproving sigh.

“Sorry Gidget.. I know.. old habits die hard. Vera, how is she doing….I bet she is needing all the help she can get from you trying to control the Freak”.

“Yeah.. you could say that. Although neither of us are doing a great job at that at the moment”.

“Well I bet she is regretting nearly getting rid of you the other day. She needs you in there Gidge”. 

“Well maybe she does.. but she may have to live without me again”. 

At that minute. Franky sat upright, also causing Bridget, who was leaning on her, to sit upright. 

“Remember when they reemployed you Gidge… after you left to save my ass?.” Franky asked

“Mmmm” Bridget responded not knowing where Franky was going with this.

“Well don’t you remember, they made you sign all new stuff – terms of engagement, superannuation forms, insurance yada yada”. 

“yes vaguely”, Bridget said without giving it much thought “but I was reemployed in the same position”.

“Yah Gidge, but…” Franky started to talk excitedly as if her mouth was struggling to keep up the pace that her brain was thinking. 

“..don’t you remember there was a whole drama ‘coz they wanted to sign you on as something different – not an employee. Do ya remember??” Franky looked at Bridget, prompting her 

“it was something to do with funding cuts or redirection of resources”.. Franky trailed off. 

Bridget started to remember. “That’s right… they employed me through my private practice as a consultant”. 

Bridget was still puzzled, her usually sharp mind feeling like it was struggling to process whatever Franky was thinking – and she was a million miles ahead of Bridget.

“Well Gidge… I told you we would figure it out”, Franky was beaming back at her. She always knew that Franky was smart and had a quick mind, but sometimes she ran rings around Bridget – especially when it was analysis of technicalities. But sometimes it was nice to let Franky take control. Althoug Bridget still didn’t know what Franky was onto. 

“Ok, legal eagle.. you’ll have to step me through it”, Bridget laughed.

“So…… your not an employee.” Franky beamed… “Of Corrections Victoria”, she added. 

“When they reemployed you, you didn’t sign a contract as an employee but a Terms of Engagement as a Consultant … so you consult to them, you aren’t employed by them. I remember looking up the difference at the time”. Franky looked at Bridget excitedly.

Bridget had to hand it to Franky. 

“So… I don’t have to tick that box.. on the form” Franky said triumphantly.

Relieved, Bridget threw her head back to look at the ceiling. Thank fucking god, she thought. At least that put out that fire – for the moment. But again, saved by a technicality.

“So ey Gidge… what do you think of that??, Told ya it would be ok” Franky flashed her trademark smile.

“I think”, Bridget said as she turned around to straddle Franky and face her. 

“That you…” Bridget paused to kiss her.

“are a fucking genius” she added as she pulled Franky’s face to hers. 

“Not bad eh, pretty alright even if I do say so myself” Franky responded.

Bridget pulled Franky towards her and her breath hitched as Franky grabbed the back of neck, “You are better than alright Franky Doyle” Bridget said in a half whisper.

“And I love you” Bridget said the silent words in her head. She wanted to say it, wanted to tell her. Wanted her to know that the way she loved Franky, was a way that she had loved no other woman before. 

But not here. Not yet… she thought to herself.. 

Not just yet.


	4. The Love

It was a Thursday morning – Bridget hadn’t slept well the night before and she was now standing under the shower head, water streaming on her face in an effort to wake herself up. Franky had already showered and dressed and was down in the kitchen making coffee (or at least that is what it had smelled like before Bridget had stepped into the shower)

“Gidget”.. she thought she heard and she stopped to pause, but then didn’t make anything else out so she carried on with her quest to wake herself up. Franky then appeared in the doorway of the bathroom and stood near the open plan shower, just far enough back to ensure that she didn’t get splashed. “Gidget”, Franky said again. “Your phone is going nuts”.

“Who is it?” Bridget responded through the fall of water. “Ummm, it’s a private number… but they’ve rung like three times”. Bridget could see from the phone that Franky held in her hand that it was her work phone. Before Bridget could ask Franky responded “and they haven’t left any message – its not saying you have a voicemail”.

That’s stange, Bridget thought. Wentworth was a private number, maybe it was someone there. But who would be calling her now. She stepped out of the shower and started to towel dry her lithe body. As she dried her hands, she picked up her watch from the bathroom vanity, and as the clipped it on her wrist, checked the time – ten minutes past seven. Franky handed her the phone, which she put next to her make up box on the vanity bench in case it rang again. 

Was it Vera?? Bridget thought. She knew she had been putting in crazy hours lately and was having a crisis of confidence as Ferguson continued to place pressure on her and make her second guess everything. Will Jackson, her deputy was not exactly helping the Ferguson situation, leaving himself wide open for an allegation that he had orchestrated or in fact inflicted a ganging on Ferguson – but she was still denying that the rape had happened so things were safe for now.

Franky, make up already done, started to do her hair as Bridget came back into the bathroom, dressed, ready to do her makeup. Franky loved to watch, in the mirror, the look of concentration on Bridget’s face when she did so. Both women heard Bridget's personal mobile ringing from the bedroom, Franky looked at Bridget in the mirror “Jesus you’re popular this morning”.

Bridget headed towards the bedroom and as she grabbed it, saw Vera’s name on the screen.

Bridget answered the phone and put it on speaker. As she did, she looked at Franky in the mirror reflection and put her finger to her lips – and she mouthed “shh”. Bridget was certain that Vera knew she continued a relationship with Franky, but did not want to place her in anymore of a difficult position than she was. Franky nodded in understanding.

“Vera” Bridget said brightly, as she placed the phone on the bathroom vanity and applied primer to her face.

“Bridget”, Vera sounded somewhat flustered. “Sorry for um calling you so early…. I don’t like to call you on your personal phone for work business.. oh that is why I’m calling .. but I couldn’t get through.. on the umm.. work phone ”.

“That’s fine Vera”, Bridge said as she waited for the primer to set “ – but why are you in so early, you need to be careful that you don’t burn yourself out, its…”

Vera cut Bridget off as she interjected quite curtly “I’m in early as there was an attempted suicide overnight. I’ve been here since 4 am”. Silence.

“Oh God Vera, it it someone I’m treating?”, Bridget felt a wave of dread come over her as she placed the lid back on the bottle of foundation she had just applied to her face.

“ahhh yes” Vera responded sounding somewhat hesitant.

“Fuck” thought Bridget, just what she didn’t need at the moment.

“…and that’s why I’m ringing” Vera added, just as Bridget turned the water faucet on, making an audible noise.

“Am I .. ahhh… on speaker phone?” Vera asked, her voice higher pitched than normal.

“oh yeah, sorry Vera, I’m just in the middle of getting ready”, Bridget added, as Franky made a face at Bridget.

“So, which prisoner was it?” Bridget asked, continuing to apply her makeup so she didn’t fall behind her morning schedule.

“ahh, Bridget.. are you ummm. Is…. Ahhh..Look is there anyone else there?” Vera questioned. Bridget knew full well she was referring to Franky. Franky made another face, impersonating Vera with her indecisiveness and the way she was stumbling over her words.

Bridget let out a breath. She didn’t want to lie. “Yes” Bridget said simply, knowing full well that Vera would know it was Franky.

“Pick up the phone please”, Vera said quite abruptly.

“I’m sorry.” Bridget responded, taken aback and not quite expecting either the words or the tone that came from Vera’s mouth.

“Look, I’m sorry Bridget, it’s been a difficult morning. I’ve been on and off the phone with the emergency department and intensive care unit at The Royal Melbourne hospital all morning, but can you take me off speaker please”. Vera sounded worn, but Bridget sensed there was justification in her request.

Franky looked at Bridget, as she mouthed “What the Fuck” and screwed up her face in typical Franky fashion.

Bridget did so. “OK” she said “your off speaker”.

“Its Chang… Kim Chang” Vera said cooly without any further comment.

“Oh Fuck” Bridget responded, trying not to give anything away in her expression as Franky looked at her expectantly.

“Yes, that’s why I wanted you off speaker phone” Vera responded.

“So how serious is it, what did she use?”.

“I don’t know for certain at this stage, but its some blade of sorts. Whether someone planted it in her cell or whether she took it from someone, we don’t know”.

“But who in H2 would do that to her?”, Bridget responded.

Franky spun around suddenly, eyes as wide as saucers. Immediately Bridget regretted mentioning the cell block. 

“What…” Franky mouthed at her. Bridget put her hand up.

“Was it drugs again?" Bridget queried. Again, regretting her choice of words given Franky’s involvement in the traffic of drugs into the prison. Bridget has also told her nothing of Chang’s demise and her now drug addiction.

“Look I don’t know at this stage, but likely. I mean you’ve seen what she has been like. More and more have been getting in, I don’t know what has happened to Bea Smith but she seems to have dropped the ball.” Vera responded. Bridget agreed but was reluctant to say anything further given that Franky was hanging on her every word in an attempt to deduce what had happened.

Vera continued to talk “Look Bridget, I know that you are not exactly Chang’s favourite person… for ahhhmm.. obvious reasons” Vera said as she cleared her throat. 

Bridget thought back to the time when Chang had abused her in front of Vera and the word rang in her ears as she then proceeded to try to out her to Vera, who was supervising in the exercise yard.

“….But the hospital have requested someone internal go to the hospital to meet with their internal psych department. That’s why I was ringing,,, to see if you can go straight there this morning” Vera asked.

“I should be able to… what hospital is she at again?” Bridget asked. Franky’s eyes again shot Bridget a look. She knew that if the hospital was involved that it must be serious as otherwise, the internal medical facility at Wentworth handled it.

Bridget tried to ignore Franky’s piercing gaze. 

Vera responded and started rattling off the details of where Kim Chang was, along with one of the guards. “Even though she is incapacitated we aren’t taking any chances…. I don’t think the board will ever recover from Bea Smith’s escape from hospital”.

‘No no, understandable” Bridget responded. “I should be able to get there – but it’s across the other side of town, it will take me a while in the morning traffic.”.

“I’ll let them know you will be coming” Vera responded.

“And, umm.. you will obviously keep this confidential…” Vera said, but they both knew Vera was referring to Bridget not telling Franky.

“Yes, of course” Bridget responded, not knowing how she was going to get away with not telling Franky, whose eyes had continued to widen by the second and who was continuing to make gestures and mouth things at Bridget despite her best attempts to ignore them.

“Come and see me when you are in” Vera said, again somewhat abruptly. “I mean..” Vera said, her voice, going down an octave “Will you please let me know when you get it in and come by my office”. 

“Sure” Bridget responded, she could sense the tension in Vera’s voice. 

Bridget almost did not want to finish the conversation with Vera as she knew she would be met by a more difficult one with Franky.

“So…” Franky looked at her expectantly. “Who was it?”.

“Franky, you know the deal, I can’t talk to you about other inmates”. Bridget responded. “Its confidential”.

“Gidge, that’s bullshit and you know it. You tell me lots of stuff that you aren’t meant to tell me” Franky added, Bridget sensing her irritation. 

Bridget knew she was right. She couldn’t help but tell Franky things that ordinarily would be mundane and mean nothing to a partner, but Franky knew the context, knew the prisoners about which she was talking so it was difficult to only give nondescript explanations as to her day. Plus she trusted Franky implicitly. But Chang ... she wasn't sure how Franky would react.

Franky shot Bridget another look and added “Well are you going to tell me or not?”

Bridge breathed out as she spun around to face Franky. 

“Franky… I can’t”, and before the words had even left her mouth, she could see Franky’s frustration.

It was not necessarily that Vera had asked her not to tell Franky – as she had no doubt told Franky many things she shouldn’t have. If it was any other prisoner, she would have. But Kim Chang. Bridget couldn’t help but remember the day she was doing Chang’s admission (or readmission as she found out it later was), and the way Chang had jumped off the bench, out of the door and into Franky’s arms the minute that she had seen Franky.

Bridget couldn’t shake the pang of jealousy she still felt – remembering only too well, the same feeling when she saw Chang fly into Franky’s arms. She was certain her face had given her away that day. Bridget, who was usually a master at concealing her emotions and reactions had been caught off guard. She had wanted to get Chang away, far away from Franky Doyle, the inmate who, at the time was flirting with her profusely, which she had realized she did not want to stop.

Bridget had not wanted to look, but could not look away. She had not wanted to see the way that Kim looked at Franky and she was scared to see the way that Franky looked back Kim. She remembered, looking down was the only way she could steal her eyes away from the scene that was unfolding. Granted, Franky hardly welcomed her with open arms, but she could tell there was a history there – about which Franky had been open and honest with Bridget since her release.

“Fucking hell Gidget” Franky spat, as she walked out of the bathroom and headed back towards the kitchen, snapping Bridget back to the moment and she then followed Franky towards the kitchen to collect her coffee. If she was going to make it to the hospital on time, she would only have time for a coffee.

She toyed with the idea of telling Franky. But didn’t want to. Didn’t want to talk about Kim Chang with her. She was having a hard enough time managing Chang at work and was getting nowhere with her therapy sessions with her – which Chang insisted on maintaining, and always steering back to allegations of her relationship with Franky and losing Franky to Bridget.

Bridget met Franky in the kitchen. “Look I’m sorry Gidge, I guess I’m just worried about the girls”… “H2 was my old cell block… and you now how it is inside… you end up like family”. Franky’s eyes pleaded with Bridget’s

Bridget immediately felt for Franky as she remembered one of the many conversations they had about her surviving on the inside when Franky had told her that until Bridget had come along the girls had been all she had – Liz, Doreen, Boomer and later Bea had become her family.

“Look, darling, It’s not one of your girls”.

“Oh, so it’s a new person then?” Franky asked.

Bridget didn’t want to lie “Look, Franky, I can’t tell you, I’m sorry.”

She could tell Franky was irritated but she dropped it – which, Bridget thought, meant one of two things – either she was over it or she was going to deal with it her way – which Bridget had learnt she couldn’t control and just had to let Franky Doyle do what Franky Doyle was going to do.

************************************************************  
As Bridget arrived home she saw Franky’s legs hanging over the side of the couch.

“So”, Franky called from the couch, before she had even made eye contact with Bridget. “Why didn’t you tell me it was Kim Chang?”, as Bridget shut the door behind her.

“Umm, sorry”, Bridget responded, it was either a lucky guess or she knew something. But Bridget wasn’t about to fall into a trap if it was the former.

“Gidge, don’t bullshit with me. I know it was Chang”. Franky responded.

“And how do you know that?”, Bridget said, irritation evident in her voice as she put her things down on the kitchen bench and undid her hair.

“I spoke to Dor today”, Franky responded as she got up off the couch.

“So you….” Bridget started, kicking her heels off and putting them to one side; 

“went behind my back”, opening the fridge door on a hunt for a bottle of wine;

“and got hold of one of the women in Wentworth …because you just had to know”, Bridget responded, her voice growing louder and more accusatory with each word.

“For fucks sake Franky”, Bridget said as she slammed the fridge door shut, empty handed.

“No, don’t you for fucks sake me” Franky responded.

“For one, Dor tried to call me last week to sort out some shit with Nash. I tried to get a hold of her but couldn’t and she called me back again this arvo and told me that Kim tried to top herself.. she said it was pretty bad..”

Franky trailed off, waiting for confirmation in Bridget’s answer as she got up off the couch.

“Franky, I told you, I am not going to talk to you about it”.

“Why not… if it was anyone else you would” Franky responded.

Franky was becoming angry, Bridget could tell by the way she was holding her hands in front of her, almost making a fist with her left hand as she spoke.

“I’ve told you… its confidential” Bridget said matter of factly, as calmly as she could, trying to shut down the conversation.

“Don’t try that shit on me Gidget, we both know that you didn’t want to tell me because of my involvement with her”, Franky challenged.

“Involvement … is that what you are calling it now???”, Bridget spat back, eyebrows raised and regretting the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. I sound like a jealous fucking 19 year old, she thought to herself as she tried to get a hold of her emotions.

“Really???” Franky said, as she shook her head, looking disappointed as she let out a big sigh.

“Look, I didn’t want to worry you” Bridget responded, grasping at straws.

“I call bullshit” Franky said, spinning around to look Bridget in the eye.

Bridget stood there, not responding. Fuck Franky knew her so well, she thought.

“For fucks sake Bridget, I don’t know why you just didn’t bloody tell me”, Franky said, challenging Bridget.

Bridget knew why and she was pretty sure Franky knew why. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it out aloud. 

“Franky”, Bridget responded cooly, trying to distance herself and calling upon her skills as a therapist to remain neutral and to withdraw her emotion.

“No… don’t you do that” Franky responded, sounding hurt. “Don’t you start talking like THAT”. Bridget could sense the upset in Franky’s voice. Franky was right, she thought.

“Fuck Gidget, I’m a big girl, yes I have a history, but I did what I needed to do to stay inside, you know all of that. I’ve told you before, I never had any feelings for Chang, yes it was fun, yes we fucked, she was a distraction, a release in prison..”.

Franky looked expectantly at Bridget who stood there, appearing indifferent, not responding but unbeknownst to Franky, was fighting to retain her composure as she rubbed her forehead. “Fuck” Bridget thought “How did I manage to royally fuck this up”.

“For fucks sake Bridget, what do I have to do.. what do I have to say…” Franky demanded as she met Bridget’s eyes.

Bridget knew what she was feeling was ridiculous. But she was so scared of losing Franky. Even though their relationship was strong, at times, she was plagued by a niggling doubt in her mind, which overtook her. It said more about her and her insecurities than it did about Franky and anything that she had ever done.

She was never good at jealousy, it was the one thing she didn’t do well and struggled to hide. 

She stood there looking at Franky, who was growing wilder by the minute as she appeared to grow more irate at Bridget’s lack of response. Bridget was floundering, floundering with her own emotions and how to respond.

Franky’s arms were flying wildly around before she slammed her right hand on the kitchen counter, Bridget jumping

“I don’t give a fucking shit about Kim Chang…..... I am in love with you” Franky yelled across the kitchen, her voice starting to break.

The words, reaching Bridget’s ears almost in slow motion as she stood there unable to move. She looked at Franky, who also appeared unable to move, her hand still planted in the place on the bench she had slammed it against moments earlier.

The air was still, neither Bridget nor Franky moved. It was as if time had stopped, or slowed. The physical distance across the kitchen between them seemed much greater than it actually was. Bridget felt her ears almost burning, her stomach churning, her heart bursting as she processed the words she, deep down had longed to hear come from Franky’s mouth.

Franky and Bridget stood, looking at each other, still neither moving. 

Franky swallowed and more calmly added “I said”, pausing to sniff “ …. I’m in love with you Gidget”. She walked over to Bridget and pulled her roughly towards her and kissed her with a sense of urgency, which then became more gentle, a kiss of longing, of release, of tenderness, of love.

“And I am in love with you”, Bridget responded, voice breathy and labored as she kissed Franky back.

How long they kissed for, neither new. Time was irrelevant. As Franky gently broke their kiss, they stood. Lips millimeters from each others’ face and Franky started to smile “Well I’m glad we’ve got that sorted out” she said, Bridget let out a smile and a gentle laugh. 

“I’m so sorry Franky” she said, looking Franky squarely in the eye. “its just…” but before she could finish, Franky had placed a finger gently on Bridget’s lips. 

‘I know… I know… its ok” Franky said, silencing Bridget.

Franky leaned back and opened the freezer door with one hand, and produced a bottle of white wine “Were you looking for this by chance?”, flashing her trademark Franky grin. 

Bridge smiled, slightly embarrassed by her behavior of a few moments earlier.

“Well, there wasn’t any cold in the fridge so I thought I’d cool this one down for you… I had an inkling you would be on the lookout for a vino when you got home”, Franky smiled.

“Uhh, you’ve got no idea..” Bridget said, smiling back at Franky as she cracked the seal on the bottle of wine.


	5. The Understanding - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written after episode 8 and before episode 9

The panic button… “again…” Bridget thought. She didn’t know what the women were playing at and wondered if it was again, Doreen trying to make a stand, prove a point or God knows Bridget thought, slightly irritated. Bridget didn’t have access to any CCTV from her screen, nor was there a guard in earshot to hear their radio. 

She needed to head up to Vera’s office to deliver her assessment of Tasha. Reaching into her bottom draw to pull out her keys, she then wondered if she should in fact be on the move when the panic button was still sounding. This was only the second time she had heard it since staring at Wentworth and she could not remember whether there was in fact any procedure to follow. Probably not, she thought, as the women were never allowed to press it…so it had never happened.

There was no message over the PA as to a lockdown, but Bridget felt a sense of uneasiness, so she decided to stay in her office. Gut feelings were important in a volatile place such as Wentworth and Bridget trusted her gut as much as she trusted anything. Just as she sat down and leaned back, she heard the lockdown siren and announcement. Fuck, she thought, breathing out a long sigh. Some days this place was unrelenting.

She and Franky had planned to spend a quiet, relaxing night together. Between the extra hours that Franky had been putting at legal relief, Bridget’s private practice commitments and Bridget’s submission she was making to the department of corrections on their recidivists programme, they had not spent a lot of time together this week. Bridget has so much to tell Franky - Maxine's cancer diagnosis, Boomer, Doreen changing crews, Kaz trying to outplay Bea... 

She thought of how she loved to just lie with Franky, watching her sleep, watching the way her face sometimes crinkled up, or she frowned, or sometimes even smiled. She was still a very light sleeper, with vivid dreams – something Bridget thought she may have moved away from by now, after having been out of Wentworth for a few months. But for Franky, thought Bridget, it was most likely a product of her childhood, her adolescence and the lack of attachment bonds she felt through her life and always needing to feel on guard. Franky often joked with Bridget that she slept with one eye open, and Bridget didn’t doubt it. 

Lost in her thoughts of Franky, she jumped when she was interrupted by a face in the door. 

“Aaaa..Are you Mrs Westfall?”, the baby faced guard stammered. 

“Yes, I am and is Ms… but you can call….”, Bridget started to say but was interrupted.

“Ummm, you have to come with me… um the Governor…. Its like serious”. 

“Ok” Bridget said as she nodded, raising her eyebrows. She didn’t recognize the guard. She did remember that a few new guards had started and Vera was trying to use some of the less experienced guards as a means of attempting to reduce the staffing overhead costs given all the overtime that she had recently chewed into.

Bridget stepped outside her door and went to lock it, noticing a sense on uneasiness hanging in the air. She always found it difficult to describe to people who didn’t work in the prison system – but there was both a “calm before the storm” feeling and "aftermath" feeling. She now felt the latter as she walked through the corridors with the guard. 

“So what’s happened??”, Bridget asked. 

“Umm, look, but there are a heap of women who are hysterical, I think one is sedated – that’s who you have to go and talk to, all those women” The guard responded, clearly nervous and maybe even on his first day Bridget mused.

“OK” Bridget said. Some parts of the prison they walked through were eerily quiet – there was a lockdown, Bridget reminded herself, but there was a different feeling.

As the guard, slightly ahead of her, went to turn left, Bridget stopped “oh, its this way to medical”, she said trying to sound helpful. 

“Oh, the women are around in admissions” he replied, nervously.

“Really??, are you sure” Bridget questioned.

“Yeah I know, I saw them. The Governor directed they be put there away from what was happening in medical” the guard responded, sounding slightly annoyed with Bridget.

“OK. So what is happening in medical” Bridget asked, as their pace quickened again, now it was Bridget’s turn to feel slightly annoyed, nothing the guard said seemed to make sense.

“Someone in there got burnt” the guard replied

“Steam press again?” Bridget asked

“Nahh, it’s something in the kitchen I think”.

“Okaaay” Bridget answered slowly, not sure whether this guard really knew what he was talking about

“Who?” Bridget questioned, her pace quickened to walk alongside the guard rather than behind him.

“Look I don’t know” the guard responded blankly

“Well did you see them?” Bridget asked, trying to suppress her frustration at the young guard who was clearly inexperienced and nervous.

“Well I did, but they are all in the same clothes, it was mayem, the women were just hysterical …someone was saying something about a Top Dog” he said, sounding confused.

“Bea Smith”, Bridget said with alarm. 

“Was it Bea smith that got burnt?”, Bridget started to panic, as she flicked her access pass nervously under her fingers and they continued to walk at a fast pace.

“Look I don’t know… there is someone in the slot, some of the women in admissions, someone in medical and I know another lady got taken away by ambulance”

“Ambulance”, Bridget said, panicked…. “Who ??” she pressed.

“I don’t know.. I said” the guard responded. “Look sorry, the governor just asked me to get you”.

Just at that moment the guards radio blared “Barnes”, screamed a voice that Bridget recognized as Vera’s “Where is Ms Westfall?”

“we are 30 seconds away” responded the guard.

“OK, I will met you in the admissions area” Vera said. Bridget could tell, even through the transmission static that Vera was stressed, beyond belief. 

Bridget and the guard picked up their pace. As they rounded the corner, Bridget was met by Vera, who stopped abruptly and who radio in hand, was talking with Mr Jackson. Knuckles white from the tight grip on the radio, she looked at Bridget and held up a finger at her, asking her to wait. 

Bridget could hear what sounded like crying coming from one of the admissions rooms. She peered past Vera into the one closest to them, the door was partially open. White tennis shoes of one of the women lying on the padded bench was all that was visible, but Bridget couldn’t make out who it was. It seemed darker than normal, but maybe that was just Bridget’s eyes playing tricks on her. But there was an oppressive feeling of heaviness, of uneasiness and Bridget didn’t like it.

As two external paramedics walked past them, carrying their bright red resus-kits, Vera barked at them “Keep us updated please”. 

Bridget then noticed she could hear screaming, most likely coming from the medical room down the corridor. She hoped to god it wasn’t Bea that had been burnt. 

Bridget’s eyes met Vera's and she mouthed “What’s happened?” as she looked expectantly at Vera.

Vera pursed her lips as she breathed in through her nose, looking down. Was Vera about to cry??, wondered Bridget. What the fuck had happened.

“Come over here”, Vera said as she looked around, pulling her back towards a corridor. As her hand grabbed Bridget’s arm, Bridget felt Vera shaking. “Vera”, Bridget’s eyes met Vera’s “Just what is going on… are you OK?”.

“I don’t have time not to be OK” Vera responded sharply head shaking and eyes wide, Bridget slightly taken aback by her tone.

“We think that Ferguson tried to kill one of the women”, Vera continued in a low voice.

“Who?” Bridget said, frowning in disbelief and again screams coming from the medical room shot through Bridget. 

“That’s her now …. Ferguson. Significant burns” Vera said tilting her head in the direction of the noise. Bridget didn’t know whether she was deliberately evading her question.

“Well, who? Which woman, is she OK?”.

“I don’t know”, Vera responded.

“You don’t know who or who don’t know if she is alright?” Bridget questioned, a pit starting to develop in her stomach.

“We don’t know if she is alright. She wasn’t breathing and I don’t know if she had a pulse when she was found. Will administered CPR until the paramedics arrived – well at least the first lot and she was rushed to hospital. We don’t know how long she was out for and if in fact if she is going to make it.” Vera said, her voice cracking towards the end.

“Smith better not fucking die” Vera added as she bit her lip. 

“Bea Smith????” Bridget said with a voice that didn’t sound like her own as she felt like her breath had been taken away.

“You said Bea Smith”, Bridget said again, feeling more frantic, as she again put her hand on Vera’s arm.

Vera nodded as Bridget felt a wave of panic come over her face. Bridget had, just hours earlier, been sitting opposite Bea, who had shared with Bridget her most intimate thoughts.

Vera recounted what little they knew of the attack to Bridget and whilst she was listening, Bridget’s mind kept drifting back to Bea’s face as she has sat opposite her. Bridget had tried to steer Bea away from labels, away from stereotypes and away from her focus on what “should” be and instead to trust her instinct, to live in the moment and to trust what she was feeling. She ached inside as she remembered the little smile that came across Bea’s face after she had processed Bridget’s words, which Bridget had hoped had brought some resolve to Bea.

“What I need you to do is to speak to the women” Vera said, Bridget returning to reality.

“I am still trying to work out what women were affected, who saw what and who of course, who was involved” Vera said.

“First, I need you to asses Novak – as I understand matters”, Vera paused to clear her throat,

“…she was the one who found Smith and started CPR on her. She is, understandably, shaken. But I need you to make a determination as to whether she is a risk to herself or whether she will be OK in the general population”. Vera had now gone into work mode.

“OK, sure” Bridget responded. “Ill start with Novak and then you let me know who you want me to see next and in what order”.

“Ferguson should be seen too, but quite Frankly, my priorities are with the other women at the moment”. Vera added.

“That is a sensible call Vera” Bridget said trying to sounds as supportive as she could while she was trying to suppress her own panic and the stone that was developing at the back of her throat. 

“I don’t know how “with it” Novak is… but she was only given a light oral sedative” Vera said, motioning to the room behind her, where Bridget had before seen the tennis shoes, which she now knew were Allie’s. Vera was then interrupted by the nurse from medical – whom Bridget didn’t know but she had taken in instant dislike to. Bridget nodded at Vera as Vera walked off with the nurse.

Bridget paused as she approached the door, taking a sharp breath in through her nose, rearranging her jacket to center herself. She hadn’t really had much to do with Allie Novak but knew she was a member of the infamous Red Right Hand. She had seemed nice enough when Bridget had passed her in the corridors – but Bridget knew that first impressions could be deceiving; she had worked in corrections long enough.

As she opened the door, she saw Allie, siting on the bench, legs crossed under hers and head in her hands as her elbows rested on her lap. Her hair - some was plastered over her face in a mixture of salty tears, and what wasn’t, remained in a loose hair tie. 

“Allie”, Bridget gently said. Allie looked up and met Bridget’s eye, not speaking. 

She was immediately hit by Allie’s grief stricken face. Eyes that were just pools of sorrow, disbelief, desperation, and of just complete and utter devastation.

And immediately Bridget knew. She knew the look in Allie’s eyes, the way she held her face. She knew what that look meant. She knew what it felt to look like that. Like your world was ending, being overtaken by grief, the way it overcame you, invaded every part of you. Bridget didn’t have to wonder any further about who Bea was talking to her about. 

She knew. She was now sitting in front of Bridget.

“You’ve experienced a lot today. It will take your body and mind a lot to process. What you are feeling now, will be the start of many emotions. Just allow yourself to feel those” Bridget said, softly.

The look in Allie’s eyes made Bridget’s heart ache.

“Is she OK?”, Allie stammered in an almost whisper

“Look, I don’t know – Vera has just asked me to come and sit with you. But I promise you, I will try and find out and make sure that you stay informed”.

Bridget sat opposite her. Silent tears made their way down Allie’s face. 

Allie suddenly lurched forward. At first Bridget thought she was going for the door, but she then realized it was towards the bin. Allie slumped over in the corner as she emptied the contents of her stomach.

There was a rule of no physical contact between staff and the women at Wentworth, except when guards were restraining prisoners. Bridget had obviously broken that with Franky, but as a rule, strove to maintain that with the other women. But right now, it didn’t matter to her as she stood behind Allie and held her hair out of her face as she continued retching until there was only bile in her stomach.

Allie then let her legs collapse slowly beneath her as she slumped on the cold concrete floor and sobbed.

Allie was in love with Bea, in love with the top dog, a dangerous position to be in now at the prison Bridget thought. Kneeling down beside her, Bridget put her hand on Allie’s shoulder. 

“We don’t need to talk. I can just sit with you for as long as you need to. I can imagine how it must have felt for you to find Bea” Bridget said gently looking to Allie’s face, whose eyes were cast down. “Can I get you some water”?. Allie nodded, still trying to catch her breath and being caught by the little intakes of air.

Bridget, still kneeling, leaned forward to open the door and asked the guard for some water. She returned to Allie, whose eyes met hers as her hands, shaking, took the paper cup from Bridget’s steady hand.

“She wasn’t breathing” Allie said in a whisper as she started to shiver.

Allie’s eyes looked into Bridget’s. Bridget nodded silently, letting the silence hang, Allie’s legs were shaking. She looked expectantly at Bridget and exhaled shakily. Silence.

“What you are going through is your body’s physical reaction to trauma”, Bridget said.

Tears again threatened to engulf Allie as her top lip quivered. 

“And its normal to feel the way you are, especially when something happens to someone that we care about”, Bridget said, hoping to convey to Allie her understanding of their relationship. Allie looked at Bridget, slightly perplexed through her tears – as Bridget tilted her head in response and put her hand over Allies. “It’s OK”. Bridget said in a soft, low voice. There were so many other things Bridget wanted to add, but couldn’t . Allie’s face relaxed, “Thankyou” she whispered.

Bridget sat silently with Allie as Allie composed herself. Allie sniffed. 

“You don’t have to stay here with me.. some of the others might need to talk to you. Mel… she was the one that pushed the panic button. And Kaz, I hope she is OK.. I can’t even remembered what happened but she pulled Ferguson from Bea… maybe you should go and check on Kaz”, speaking faster than normal, her thoughts careering out of her mouth.

“OK” Bridget responded. Whilst the details Vera gave her were very sketchy, she thought she remembered Vera mentioning that she thought Kaz and her crew were involved in the attempt on Bea’s life. 

“Now… the prison is still in lockdown, so you will need to stay here for a bit longer. If you want to be alone, I can recommend that you go into the psych ward – for observation only – but otherwise you will be released into general once the lock down is finished” Bridget said lifting her chin slightly towards Allie.

“I think I want to go into general…. I want to be with the girls.. with Kaz,”. 

She has no idea… thought Bridget. If what Vera had suspected was right, she predicted a storm within the group of the Red Right Hand.

“How will I know about Bea?” Allie said suddenly sounding desperate as she went to grab for Bridget’s arm.

“I will make sure I let you know. It may be a while though, as she has been taken to Royal Melbourne, but I will see what I can do.”

Bridget smiled as she looked back at Allie. “How about we get you off the floor” Bridget suggested as she herself got up.

“Thankyou” said Allie as Bridget helped her up. 

”and Ms…. Bridget…. I mean, Thankyou.” she said, as her sincere eyes met Bridget’s. An Understanding.

As Bridget shut the door, Vera walked swiftly in her direction. “How is Novak?” 

“Fine, given the circumstances” Bridget responded. 

“Well yes, she was the one to find Smith and to pull her from the sink”. Bridget felt sick to her stomach and she wondered what sick and twisted act Ferguson had tortured Bea with. 

“Yes… that is likely to be traumatic for her” Bridget said, guarding Bea and Allie’s secret.

“She is going to stay here for the moment. I don’t think that she needs to go into psych but I will have another talk to her before she is released and make my final assessment then’. Bridget paused. 

“…Where is Kaz Proctor?”

“She was slotted” Vera responded. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I think I will need to talk with her, but what you were saying about the Red Right Hand Girls being behind the attack… – I don’t think Allie had any idea”.

“Interesting..” Vera responded “But we might never get to the bottom of who was involved,, you know what this place is like.”

“I just mention it Vera” Bridget said, pausing rubbing her left index finger against her thumb, “…if there is a divide between that crew, it could make for a potentially volatile situation”. 

“Got you.. “ Vera said, distracted as her radio blared again.

As Bridget waited for Vera to finish she shifted on her feet, and put her hands on her hips, arching slightly to relive the pressure in her lower back, looking at the clock “How much longer before lock down is lifted?” Bridget asked

“Probably another hour or so” Vera responded.

“OK, I will finish talking to the girls that were in the kitchen, then I think once lockdown is over, I will get the group together in H2 and talk to them… its important to speak with them sooner rather than later, they are like Bea’s family in here”. 

“Well, let me know… as I will need to get Jenkins out of the sot”

“What” Bridget looked confused and slightly exasperated. 

“Why on earth did you slot her?? Vera.. she was devastated about Maxine” Bridget said, challenging Vera.

“Look”. Vera said, growing agitated. “Today has not been my best day ok,” as she shot a look of self doubt Bridget’s way. 

“Once lock down is finished, she will be returned to H block” she added.

No wonder Bea was vulnerable to attack Bridget thought…. Boomer was in the slot, Maxine was having a life saving, yet soul devastating operation, Doreen was now on Kaz’s crew… it left Bea wide open for attack - against a backdrop of having Kaz having taken advantage of her weakness over the preceding weeks. 

Bridget started to think back.. should she have been more insistent that Vera intervene in the shift of power play, should she have initiated contact with Smith about working with Kaz… her mind drifted. 

“Are you right to stay back Bridget… I would really appreciate it?” Vera asked

“Of course” Bridget responded, as visions of her night at home with Franky flashed in her mind. “I just need to make a phone call” Bridget responded, aware that Vera would know full well whom she needed to call.

“Absolutely…” Vera responded. Vera leaned towards the last vacant room and with her swipe card, opened the door. 

“Thank you” mouthed Bridget. Bridget was not expecting Vera to also step into the room with her as she shuffled closer to the table to give Vera room. Vera reached inside her jacket pocket and pulled her mobile out.

“Here.. its my personal one” Vera said as she punched in her code on the lock screen. Bridget was confused and pulled a face at Vera. 

“I know”, Vera said, “I know we aren’t meant to carry our phones with us, but in the panic I just did – it was concealed”.

“No Vera,, you don’t need to justify yourself to me” Bridget responded. She was the last person who would judge Vera on adhering to protocol.

“All outgoing calls are recorded remember???” Vera said gesturing to the phone sitting on the table. 

Bridget nodded in understanding, grateful that in the panic, Vera had been cognizant enough to remember. 

“I’ll be around outside when you are finished” Vera said. 

“And thankyou Bridget” Vera added, flashing a smile which was weak but genuine.

Bridget looked at the clock. It was already 5.00pm, where had all the time gone. 

Bridget tapped Franky’s number into Vera’s phone, willing it to answer, she wasn’t sure if Franky would answer a number she didn’t know. 

“Hello”, she heard in the receiver, relief flooded her as Franky answered.

“Hi darling” Bridget said.

“ Hi spunky, what are you doing ringing me … bit of a treat getting a call from you at work” Franky’s playful voice sounded down the phone.

“Franky…I can’t talk for long” Bridget responded, conscious of how drained her voice sounded, but trying not to alarm Franky.

“Gidge whats wrong?? …what is it ??.. are you OK” she could hear the panic overtaking Franky’s voice.

“Look … I’m ok. But this place has gone into lock down. It's pandemonium and I’ve never seen anything like it ” Bridget said in a low voice, not knowing whether her voice would carry outside.

“The girls… are the girls ok?” Franky said her voice raising an octave.

“Look Franky… it’s serious. We think Ferguson tried to kill Bea”.

“What” Franky said incredulously… “But Red s'OK isn’t she?” Franky said

Bridget was silent. She didn’t know what to say.

“look Franky… she was without oxygen for some time” Bridget said gently but matter of factly.

“What the fuck?” Franky said “What do you mean without oxygen…..Gidget….” Franky’s voice was becoming louder

“Franky, breathe… I don’t know the full details” Bridget responded.

“Well how…what do you mean without oxygen, what did she do?” Franky questioned,

“We think she tried to drown her” Bridget said in a flat whisper

“What?” Franky said in disbelief, Bridget heard her swallow.

“Look I can’t talk much longer. But it was in the kitchen. She is at the Royal Melbourne, but from what I understand it pretty serious"

“What the fuck is happening in there?”. Franky asked sounding angry, but Bridget knew it was just Franky’s form of defence.

“I told you and Vera at that dinner that time that Red needed to watch out”. Bridget remembered – Franky was exactly right, why had they not paid more attention to Bea Smith and the power shift that had happened.

“Where was Boom Booms?” Franky questioned

“in the slot” Bridget, still whispering. She heard what sounded like a scuffle outside, but wasn’t sure. She had to get off the phone.

“What… Booms got slotted?... What for?... Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Look, I’ll tell you when I get home” Bridget said.

“What about Maxine?. Wasn’t she there to step up?” Franky demanded

“She is in hospital.. look Franky...”, Bridget trailed off “… I will tell you when I get home.” Bridget was almost regretting giving Franky any details and knew that by now Vera would be waiting outside, most likely impatiently by this point.

“In hospital.. what the fuck for??” Franky continued firing questions at Bridget.

“and what about Dor?” Franky asked, not giving Bridget time to respond to the question about Maxine.

“She has switched crews” Bridget responded flatly thinking that she would never be able to get off the phone.

“What the actual fuck” Franky blared down the phone. “…Gidget, what the fuck is going on there?”.

“I know darling… Look I need to go. But I won’t be home in time for dinner”

“Well I gathered that” Franky said.

“Look, just get home when you can and pleaaaase be careful” Franky said.

“I will” Bridget responded, distracted by a knock at the door

“I love ya” Franky said

“Love you too darling”, Bridget whispered into the phone just as Vera opened the door.

“Ummm Bridget, Vera shifted nervously and by Vera’s appearance she could tell that she had heard the end of the conversation, but Bridget didn’t care. 

“Umm Ferguson is demanding to see you” Vera said tentatively, eyebrows raised.

Ferguson was the last person Bridget wanted to see, “Right” Bridget said, responded rolling her eyes. “Tell her I will be 15 minutes… I just need to see the one of the other girls first”. 

"and I'm not seeing her alone" Bridget added.


	6. The Understanding - Part 2

It was ten o’clock before both Bridget and Vera walked to the carpark together. Bridget had convinced Vera to leave, despite her protests. So desperate to succeed, Vera was sometimes her own worst enemy as she pushed herself too hard sometimes, rather than just sitting back and trusting herself. Bridget considered her quite capable, just prone to frequent crises of confidence which undermined her. She just needed the right mentor.

Despite her somewhat tumultuous relationship with Vera, after Vera feeling betrayed that Bridget was in a relationship with Franky, she had worked hard at regaining Vera’s trust – at least on a professional level and often went out of her way to help Vera at work. Vera had also seen both her and Franky out of work, although Bridget didn’t like to make this a regular occurrence for fear that it would place Vera in an awkward position,

As she said goodbye and started the car, she thought about the women. Aside from Allie Novak, she was most concerned about Boomer. The speech that Boomer had prepared for her and Vera was, she thought, one of the most honest, genuine and heartfelt submissions she had heard for a long time. It actually reminded her of the raw honesty that Franky had shown in her hearing before the parole board.

Franky, she thought as she looked at the clock, it would be at least 10.30pm before she arrived home. Knowing Franky would still be up, she waited for her phone to switch over the Bluetooth and dialed Franky as she turned right out of the gate sof Wentworth.

Just as Bridget was about to hang up, she heard Franky answer with “I’ve just got a face mask on Gidgee, so I’ve got you on speaker”, Bridget smiled as she imagined a white faced franky, most liekly complete with cucumbers covering her eyes for the "full spa treatment" as Franky often called it.

“You ok?” she heard Franky say, there was echo which over the Bluetooth was difficult to hear.

“Yes darling I’m fine. I’m absolutely fucked though” Bridget responded.

“I can imagine Gidge”, Franky said, still sounding muffled.

“I can’t hear you very well baby so I’ll see you in about half an hour”.

“Sure thing, I’ll wait up. Drive safely, love you”.

“I love you too baby”, Bridget said as she hit the red button on her steering wheel with her left thumb, ending the call.

As she drove in the darkness, she couldn’t help but think of Maxine and that in the pandemonium that was the afternoon, she hadn’t thought to contact the hospital to see how Maxine was. She felt a pang of guilty and made a mental note to do so first think in the morning.

She knew that since Franky’s release, Maxine had become Boomer’s person and she had also appeared to flourish under Maxine’s almost maternal approach to Boomer. She contemplated whether she could make a case to Channing about letting Boomer out on day release to visit Maxine – but decided it would no doubt be blocked from the outset either by security or funding issues.

She then contemplated whether a visit from Franky might be good for Boomer. Franky had wanted to earlier in the year, but to Bridget’s relief she herself had thought it perhaps a bit too early. But now….

Her mind then turned to Allie. She knew the knot that Allie would now be carrying around in her stomach, the stone at the back of her throat and the tears that would be threatening to make their appearance at any second. 

She thought about those long hours, when she knew only of a fire and nothing else… then of an inmate that had died. Then there was the long and agonizing wait to find out which inmate.

…And the relief when she heard that it wasn’t Franky, which she almost couldn’t believe until she was able to touch her, to feel, her and to kiss her. Thoughts of the women ricochet inside Bridget's head - unable to silence them she let the thoughts flow past, not giving them too much air space but moving on to the next as she tried to methodically unpack her day.

As she pulled into the driveway she needed to switch the thoughts of these women off. She took a breath in and then out, focusing on herself, her hands and the way her arms sat against her torso. She thought to herself how lucky she really was – despite all of the problems that their relationship had faced in those early months, and the slightly precarious position in which she still found herself in having a relationship with a former patient.

Bridget thought back to her grandmother, with whom she had been fortunate enough to have a relationship in her adult years, who had, surprisingly, been so supportive of Bridget when she came out – particularly when her own mother had struggled with it. Her grandmother had always said to her “I count my blessings” and as Bridget grew older, she understood more and more the importance of her grandmother’s words.

As she walked towards the door, she saw light appear as Franky stood in the doorway, opening to the door to wait for her. As Bridget walked in, Franky, cuffs of her jumper pulled over her hands, reached out to hug her. Despite the facemask that Franky had applied Franky’s, her red eyes Franky’s red eyes gave away that she had been crying.

“Gidge”, Franky said, relived as she hugged Bridget tightly and didn’t let go. Bridget needed that hug, as she pushed back into Franky’s strong body, so grateful that she wasn’t coming home to an empty house tonight. Bridget reached down to Franky’s hands and felt her sleeves were damp. Typical Franky, not using a tissue, Bridget thought to herself. She knew Franky must have been worried about her girls. As chequered as her history was with Bea Smith, they had become closer before Franky’s release – Bea had saved Franky’s life Bridget reminded herself. Her mind trailed off as to whether Franky would now be feeling the guilt of being absent from prison and not being able to help Bea.

“Big day”, Bridget said to Franky, Franky still hanging onto her tightly. “I can even being to imagine. What the fuck has happened this week, I don’t know about any of that shit you were telling me on the phone… see this is why if we don’t do our regular unpack with each other we get left behind” Franky said, trying to lighten the mood. Bridget smiled at Franky's use of words and that she actually enjoyed "unpacking" her day compared to having to prise any piece of infomation out of her when she had first met Franky. 

Breaking the hug between them, but still maintaining contact,Bridget breathed in Franky’s scent. She lent in to kiss her as she gently touched Franky’s cheek. “You ok baby?” Bridget said to her.

“Yeah, I'm fine… I have just cried a river this arvo. I don’t even fuckin’ know why. Well I mean I do. I was worried about the girls.. Red, Booms even Maxi”, Franky said, looking back at Bridget’s worn face and the bags under her eyes that spoke of the stress and pressure she had been under.

Bridget gently threw her clear work bag to the ground near the door.

“I worry about you working there and I worry about you” she said to Bridget, almost relived to have said it. 

As they walked together into the kitchen, Bridget stopped and turned to Franky “I’m OK Franky, you’ve got to remember I’ve worked in the corrections system for nearly 20 years” Bridget responded.

“Yeah I know, but that place just sounds out of control, unhinged at the moment. The freak is running wild, how the fuck did she even manage to get Red alone, let alone nearly drown her… fucking hell”, Franky said aghast.

Bridget sighed as she put her keys in the bowl and released the clasp from her hair, which had been too tight for most of the afternoon but she hadn’t had the chance to fix it. She rubbed the nape of her neck in an effort to exhume the tension of her day.

“I know, Franky”, Bridget responded, a sigh caught her off guard as she lent against the kitchen bench.

“And I don’t know how it happened, but I agree with you… there is no order anymore, no system, the women get unsettled too easily, it’s a melting pot and was a disaster waiting to happen…. it just happened to be Bea’s disaster”.

“Fuck Gidget.. is she going to be OK?”, Franky asked, concern written all over her face as her brow creased.

“They won’t know more until tomorrow apparently, she is in an induced coma but is showing some level of brain activity, but she was without air for some time”, Bridget responded. 

She looked across at Franky who then said what Bridget had been thinking “She saved my fuckin’ life Gidge… without Red, I wouldn’t be standing here”.

Bridget nodded, not wanting to think about the possibility. 'I know darling", she responded, waiting to see if Franky wanted to talk more.

Bridget then grabbed a stool and sat at the island bench, tilting her head back. Closing her eyes momentarily, to avoid the glare that shone down from the overhead lights, she moved her head from side to side. It was hard work staying in control in moments like this afternoon, everyone always looked to her –the inmates, the staff. It was expected that she maintain an evenness about her, a measured approach. Which she did - it was what she trained to do, but it still took its toll on her. 

She felt the warmth of Franky’s breath as she came up to hug her from behind and kissed her neck . They both let out a long sigh – Bridget leaned her head back into Franky’s chest as Franky asked “Hungry?? I made some pumpkin soup if you are up for it”. 

Franky’s soup was to die for thought Bridget as she nodded and murmured “mmm”. Kissing the side of Bridget’s head, Franky walked over to the other side of the bench and started to heat up the soup. Bridget loved to watch Franky work in the kitchen, the way she moved so smoothly around, confident, methodical and relaxed.

Just as Bridget placed her hands on the bench to steady herself to step down from the stool, Franky, with her back to Bridget asked “red or white?”. 

Bridget smiled...was she that transparent she thought. 

“Red please my darling”, Bridget responded as Franky was already reaching for a glass from the overhead cupboards. As she sat and waited, she felt her head pounding – she hadn’t eaten or had anything to drink since lunch time. Maybe wine wasn’t such a great idea.

Franky grabbed the bottle that was sitting on the bench that Bridget had opened last night, and poured a glass, setting it down, along with water in front of Bridget.

Franky pulled the saucepan off the stove and poured the soup into two bowls and sat opposite Bridget at bench. Franky had waited for her to eat, Fuck she loved this woman Bridget thought.

“So, do ya feel like talking about what happened Gidge… only if ya want so” Franky asked.

She wanted to tell Franky about what had happened, the mess that Wentworth was in, Vera’s exhaustion, Ferguson having too much power, Bea nearly dying, Allie vomiting until her stomach was empty, the tragedy of Maxine’s decision that to save her life she was potentially going to have to live a life that she hated and which was not her own, Boomer’s devastation and how, driving home, she had thought about just how close she had come to losing Franky. 

Bridget, however, was beyond exhausted. 

Drinking nearly all of the water, Bridget stopped to respond “Franky I’m just so so tired” as she looked up to meet Franky’s eyes. She loved that Franky was now the one to prompt her to talk, when for years, she Franky had shied away from anything other than sarcastic or provoking communication.

“Yeah I get it completely Gidge” Franky said blowing on her soup in a similar manner to which Bridget did when she was a child. It brought a wry smile to Bridget’s face – a welcome relief to what she had been through today. 

“Tomorrow, I would love to talk to you about it though. Tonight I am just done”.

“Gotcha Gidge” Franky responded, as she slurped her soup seemingly oblivious to the sound she was making.

“One thing though”, Bridget said, pausing as she put a spoonful of soup in her mouth, “I think that Boomer would love to see you”.

“Yeah??” Franky’s eyes lit up. “Look I know she would, I have thought about it before – and I don’t think I was ready before. But yeah, maybe I could now”. Franky sounded excited.

 

“What do you think Gidge??” Franky asked, as she wiped her index finger around the rim of her bowl and then licked the remaining soup from her finger.

“I think that for both of you it would be a good thing. You know that since you left Boomer has become close to Maxine?” Bridget questioned as she drank from her wine glass.

“Yeah you did mention that… good old maxi-pad” Franky said

“Franky” Bridget responded, feigning disapproval “ She has been really good for Boomer” Bridget added.

“Yeah, I know, she is a top…erm.. person” Franky said raising her eyebrows.

“You…” Bridget replied, and couldn’t help but shake her head at Franky as she smiled.

“Anyway, I’ll tell you more about it tomorrow but to cut a long story short, Maxine has breast cancer, has gone for treatment in hospital and Booms is devastated” Bridget said as Franky reached across to take the bowl from Bridget. 

"Shit" Franky said as Franky rinsed their bowls. Bridget continued “She did try to put forward a case to accompany Maxine, but Channing didn’t approve it. You should have seen it Franky” Bridget said as she took a sip of her wine, “it was just the most thought out, heartfelt request I think that Vera had ever heard, Boomer certainly is loyal, you need to give her that”. Bridget added.

“Sounds like my Boom Booms” Franky responded. 

“yeah, I’ll go see her. But let’s make it a surprise. I think that she put me on her visitor list as soon as I left anyway, so I’ll just ring up and request a visit - but can you tell Mr J or Vinega.. Vera to keep it a secret?” Franky asked, winking at Bridget.

“I’ll see what I can do” Bridget responded.

The soup in Bridget’s stomach felt good, as did the wine she had drunk. 

“Alright”, Bridget said as she got up off the bench stool. “Time for bed?”.

“You don’t want to finish this?” Franky said as she held the stem of the wine glass, before lifting it off the bench.

“No”, Bridget responded, “I’m done”.

“Reaaaally”, Franky teased.. “Well that’s a first.. Bridget Westfall leaves wine in glass” Franky playfully said.

“Yes…you …I’d actually rather do something else” Bridget said playfully, despite the exhaustion showing in her voice.

“Well that’s an offer if I even heard one” Franky joked. 

Bridget smiled as Franky stepped closer to Bridget, pressing her chest against her. Bridget could feel the warmth of Franky’s breasts against her and she shivered as Franky traced along the fine chain of her necklace. “Let’s go then”, Franky whispered as she leaned in to kiss Bridget, slowly walking her back towards their bedroom, holding her close and maintaining contact between their lips. 

“I need you Gidge” Franky whispered, open mouthed against Bridget’s mouth. Bridget murmured, as she grabbed the back of Franky’s head, pulling it towards hers as Franky continued to gently navigate their way to the bedroom. Bridget needed Franky too, needed to be with her, needed to be fucked by her. Needed to lie with her, to be kissed by her and to kiss her, to wash away all the shit that had happened. To forget, to unwind, to lose control, to fall and to have Franky catch her.


	7. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set just after the final episode of Season 4. Sorry for such a hiatus! I hope that I will be able to write more regularly now!!

Bridget felt sick to her stomach. Her mind darted in different directions, panic set in. She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her body. The prickling burning behind her eyes as she put her tongue to the roof of her mouth in an attempt to halt the tears that her eyes were only just holding in.

For one of the first times in her career, she didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to say. She was shell-shocked. Without words. She felt almost paralysed as she stood there. She could feel her hands shaking by the side of her body, as she looked down in an attempt to compose herself, she noticed the opening to her shirt was quivering. 

Her mind flicked back to this morning, how she had stood, semi dressed in front of the ironing board as she waited for Franky to finish ironing her shirt for her – one of the many little things Franky did as she knew how much Bridget hated ironing. She remembered how Franky had pretended to iron slowly as she cast her eyes up and down Bridget’s toned torso, how she had let out the most infectious and wicked laugh as Bridget had tried to hurry her along. 

Franky. She would be shattered.

Sobbing. 

She was snapped back to reality as Vera let out an almighty sob in front of her. But then silence. It was one of those sobs that exploded but then which robbed Vera of any air. Bridget stood, stricken as she watched Vera shake, her body overtaken by the silent sobs which now escaped her.

Silence hung between the women. 

Bridget exhaled shakily and tried to summon every ounce of composure from within her. Disconnect. Her body didn’t feel like hers. 

She forced herself to walk over to the internal window and flick the blinds closed. Her legs which felt like they did not belong to her carried her back to the desk where Vera was now sitting, still sobbing, still struggling for air. 

There was a buzz in Bridget’s ears, almost a hum. She could hear her own heart beat as the blood wooshed through her head, her body’s natural reaction to hearing something so achingly shattering.

The words that had left Vera’s mouth only moments before, hung in the air. Still. 

“Bea Smith has been killed”.

Bridget had still not responded, she didn’t know how much time had passed since Vera had said those five words. Bridget felt as if the world was in slow motion.

As she moved closer to Vera, Bridget stood behind her and placed her arm on her shoulder. Both women were shaking. Vera grabbed Bridget’s hand and turned her head to face look up at Bridget’s. 

“I’ve failed” Vera said flatly through the despair that halted her breath. “I failed the women, I’ve failed everyone. But most of all I failed Bea Smith”.

Bridget didn’t respond. She couldn’t. 

Bea Smith. After all of her time at Wentworth, Bea had finally opened up to her, in a “Bea Smith” kind of way. She had seen a new side to Bea, a lightness, a strength a new sense of resolve and of relief. She had stepped down from top dog and was utterly in love with Allie.

Bridget’s mind flashed to Franky and how she now spoke of her “Red” – a far cry from the way that Franky had spat her name when Bridget had pushed her to talk about the way that had played Franky to take the position of top dog. 

As Bridget had often said to Franky, taking the top dog position from Franky was the best thing that Bea had ever done for her. Franky would never had surrendered that role voluntarily – Franky being Franky. It was an unlikely friendship in some respects, but one which had grown significantly since Franky had been paroled.

She remembered the night that Franky had broken down, recounting the fire, in the early days of the relationship – “I owe my life to Red”, she had said through the tears and she had finally processed the enormity of what had happened to her.

She knew that Franky was a regular visitor – partly because she had access to all of the prisoner’s visitor logs but also because Franky was open with Bridget about when she had gone to see Bea. There was, however, something that Bridget couldn’t quite put her finger on with those two – something that she suspected Franky was hiding from her. Bridget trusted Franky 100%, but call it the sixth sense, the gut feeling, there was just something not quite right.

Franky had told Bridget about Allie and Bea – not that Bridget did not already know, but she filled in a few more details, but without breaking Bea’s confidence. Momentarily, a lightness lifted in Bridget when she remembered Franky’s recount of her conversation with Bea and how Franky thought she was hilarious mentioning the “McMuff” to Bea, roaring with laughter as she threw her head back.

Franky. A wave of disbelief washed over Bridget.

All she could think about was how on earth she was going to break the news to Franky. Silent tears ran down Bridget’s face as she pursed her lips in an effort to steady herself. Vera was looking to her to respond, to say something, anything, to reassure her, to guide her. But Bridget couldn’t.

 

Bridget was jerked back into reality by Vera’s stifled sobs.

A wave of nausea swept over her and she glanced sideways to check that he bin was where it always was.

She then felt a flash of anger inside of her, knowing that she needed to guide Vera, but she couldn’t. She didn't want to. 

“I thought Joan was being released today…. What the fuck happened?” she said in a matter of fact way, her own feelings overtaking her professional obligation to be that guide, that calming one, the measured one.

Vera sat across from her. Blank.

All Bridget could think of was Franky.

“Does the board know, what Channing doing?” Bridget demanded.

“He is on the way over. Once he gets here, he will advise the board and then probably the media” Vera responded.

Vera then recounted what she knew of the events. Nothing made sense to Bridget. Why were the two of them together? Why were they even outside? How did either Ferguson or Bea have a weapon? Why were they alone? Why was Vera watching? Questions whirred about Bridget’s head. But before she had the chance to ask anything….

Fuck ,thought Bridget. Franky. She had to get to Franky.

She reached down into her draw to remove her handbag and keys and stood up without saying anything.

“But Bridget, what do I say to Channing.. where are you going?”.

“Where do you think?” She looked at Vera and could feel the anger piercing behind her eyes, driving the tears that were still flowing down her face. She knew she was being irrational, that her actions were being fuelled by her emotions. She didn’t care. 

As Bridget pulled out of the car park, she impatiently waited for the gate to open. Once on the open road, she hit the word “Franky” on her driving console and her phone started to ring.

“Well ... Hi there Gidge, I almost wasn’t going to answer as I’m just about to head into a CAC at the Juvey Court”

“Ok, so you’ll be what……half an hour maybe” Bridget replied, trying to speak cooly down the phone line. Bridget knew from her work in the juvenile detention system in the early days that Franky was referring to a Case Assessment Conference and for a second, she was struck with how proud she was of Franky and what she had achieved since being released.

“Umm, yes” Franky responded sounding somewhat puzzled and before she could ask more, Bridget then said “Did you walk there?”

“Well yes I did inspector Gidget.. aren’t you at work?” Franky playfully replied.

“Look I was, but I’m not now..umm look…. Can I pick you up from there…. The Juvenile Court has moved hasn’t it.. um... its' now attached to the Magistrates court?” Bridget questioned.

“Yep that's it… wow Gidge if you want to pop a surprise romantic after work drinks date on me you are kinda going about it in a weird way”, Franky laughed down the phone. 

“Anyway Gidge, I gotta go, about to pass through security and you know how the drill with all that”. Bridget nodded unconsciously, as people often do even when they are on the phone even thought the other can’t see them. 

“Ok darling, I’ll see you outside” Bridget responded.

“Ok Gidge, look is everything OK?..” Franky trailed off. But Bridget had already gone on the other end if the phone, or so Franky had thought.

She had heard Franky but she couldn’t bring herself to respond, couldn’t bring herself to lie, to pretend that things were fine, to pretend that she wasn’t about to deliver news to Franky that she was sure would bring a wave of torrential pain and grief over Franky. 

It took her about twenty minutes to drive to the Courts precinct and she parked a little down the road and off on a side street. Whilst they didn’t hide their relationship as much as they did in the early days, she certainly didn’t want any of Franky’s colleagues or any of her own former colleagues from around the psychology circle seeing them together and rousing any suspicion. They were so close to the expiration of her restraint period that permitted to her have a relationship with a former patient that she did not want to blow it now.

She was a psychologist, she was one of the best in the business; she knew that. But nothing – no degree, article she had written, paper she had presented, course she had run, the thousands of patients she had counseled – prepared her for what she was about to so.

As it neared half an hour, she text messaged Franky to let her know where she was parked. Franky responded with a simple love heart, which made Bridget’s heart beat fast. The adrenaline started to course through her, she could feel it, she knew how to recognize its early effects, she knew why it was happening, preparing her body for a high stress situation. 

She saw Franky walking towards the car and she took a big breath, and staggered its release and glanced at herself in the rear view mirror. Her face still held subtle signs that she had been crying… not recognizable to most, but she could see it in her own face and wondered if Franky would be able to as well.

As the car door opened and Franky got in, the car, she leaned in to kiss Bridget softly, her hand gently grasping the back of Bridget’s neck. Bridget felt her stomach rising, again, the adrenaline, she thought to herself. Franky pulled back and looked into Bridget’s eyes.

“Gidge… have you been crying?” Franky asked in a worried tone and a look of concern swept over her face. “Are you ok? ... what’s happened?” Franky said gently, with a tone of such reassurance. 

For a moment, Bridget wanted to bask in the strength of Franky’s voice in the way she showed such loyalty and support to Bridget. The way their relationship had turned a full circle in recent months made Bridget’s heart swell. It was Bridget who just wanted to burst into tears right there and then.

But she did not. She could not. As she swallowed, she pushed the grief to the pit of her stomach, steadied her hands on the wheel and said “lets just drive back to our place first ok”. She wanted to tell Franky there and then, but she didn’t want to do it in public. She didn’t know how Franky would react. Would the flight or fight response lead Franky to flight. Their house was close by anyway. Franky nodded, putting on her seatbelt and she kept her hand resting on Bridget’s leg. 

They rode in silence, for which Bridget was thankful. Franky knew when to push Bridget and when not to. Knew her intimately as Bridget knew Franky intimately. They had travelled to the corners of each others’ souls, to places reserved only for those supremely close, to places that Bridget suspected not even Franky knew that existed in her own mind.

As they went inside, Bridget threw her clear bag over the couch and kicked off her heels. She spied Franky’s car keys on the kitchen counter and she quickly threw them into the top of the kitchen drawer, where they were out of sight. Franky, who came up behind, enveloped Bridget in her arms and Bridget sank back into Franky’s chest. She then spun around so her chest was facing Franky.

She had to tell her. She didn’t think she could maintain her controlled state, the one where she drew on her centre, grounded herself through breath, the way she had been trained to break tragic news to people. But then, Bridget thought to herself, she didn’t have to. She wanted to tell Franky as her lover, her partner and her best friend.

“Franky”, she said clearing her throat. “I have some sad news.” Franky looked at her, eyes widening, her lips slightly parted. Bridget felt a pang go through her entire body. There was going to be no easy way to do this.

Franky looked at her expectantly.

“Ahhmmm” Bridget said, flicking her eyes downward before she forced herself to again met Franky’s eyes. Bridget felt her throat tighten, as her own grief and her utter love for Franky, whom she knew she was about to devastate, threatened to steal her voice.

“Darling”, Bridget said taking each of Franky’s hands in hers. 

Bridget looked into those breathtaking eyes, wanting to memorize the split second before they were engulfed by sorrow. “Bea died today”.

Her words hung in the air. She waited for her words to register on Franky’s face.

Franky said nothing. Did nothing. The two of them stood there in suspended animation.

Then.. Then a look of disbelief spread across Franky’s face.

“What… What did you say?" Franky stammered, voice uneasy. Her brow frowning slightly, the way it when she was caught off guard, which wasn’t often.

Bridget knew that she had heard her, but that her brain was struggling to process something that she did not want to hear. She kept ahold of Franky’s hands and replied “I am so so sorry, but Bea is gone”.

Franky looked back at her in disbelief. Mouth half open. Searching for words, but nothing. No words. No sound. Bridget felt Franky’s bodyweight shift as she tried to back away from Bridget’s grasp.

Bridget held firm.

The utter look of devastation washed over Franky’s face, she turned her head to the side and started to shake her head in rapid succession. “No, no she isn’t” Franky whispered, “I just talked to her yesterday”, almost as if she were trying to convince herself. 

“Baby. Bea is gone, she is gone”, Bridget said as gently as she could, feeling her eyes prickle and her throat again begin to tighten.

Then suddenly, all of the colour ran from Franky’s face. Franky’s lips began to tremble. Her body started to shake. Bridget swiftly stepped towards her pulling her body against hers as Franky sobbed. Silent sobs that shook the entirety of her being as Bridget held her body tight against her own.

Bridget then felt Franky’s legs give way. Despite Bridget being smaller than Franky, her strength supported Franky as she lowered them both to the ground slowly, holding Franky.

Bridget continued to hold her as she sobbed. She had half expected Franky to run, or to try to at least, which is why she had put her car keys out of sight. 

The immense grief that was wracking Franky’s body rendered her unable to talk, as she fought to be able to inhale air in between her sobs. Bridget didn’t speak. Tears too rolled down Bridget’s face.

After how long, Bridget did not know, Franky pulled away slightly and looked at Bridget. The grief etched in her face was immense, it made Bridget feel sick to her stomach.

“Do you know what happened?” Franky said, pressing her lips together in an effort to somehow contain the grief and disbelief that was flooding over her.

Bridget took a labored breath. Not quite knowing the full story, not quite knowing how to tell Franky. Wishing she had asked more questions of Vera.

“I don’t know the full story” she replied. “But Ferguson was involved”. Franky’s eyes flashed with rage even before Bridget had finished the sentence.

To be continued .....


	8. Disbelief

As she walked hurriedly away, tears stinging her eyes, she kept her gaze downwards. It was completely unlike Bridget, as she always liked to be aware of her surroundings but most of all, she understood the importance of looking the women in the eye, acknowledging them, trying to make sure that they knew they were not just part of an anonymous sea of teal shuffling through the corridors.

But today was different. She just needed to get back to her office, back to a place where she knew she could fall apart, which she was staving off at every step; worried that she would not make it in time. Worried that she would dissolve, be overcome, be engulfed by the fear, the trepidation, the anger, the hurt; before she got there.

Her office had never seemed so far away. Fuck. There was a bottle neck on the stairs, as she stared down at the jungle of white tennis shoes marking time, not really moving. Fuck. She felt panicked and just when she felt she could last no longer, she seized on the opportunity of a gap between two of the women who were talking and were clearly not in a hurry to get anywhere. Well why would they be, thought Bridget.

Her lithe body slipped through as she then skipped down the remaining stairs, praying that she would not get waylaid. She was close now. She could hold it together.  
As she strode towards her door, she readied her hand in anticipation of grabbing the handle. As she reached forward with her keys, her hands shaking, she had never been so thankful to hear the obliging click as the door opened as she exerted pressure downwards on the handle.

As she pushed open the door just enough to enter the room, she then turned towards it, facing the door front on and with two hands, forced the door closed, whilst she flicked the lock. The relief washed over her.   
It was against prison regulations to use the lock, as it was to draw her blinds as she had done the day prior when she had arranged for Franky to visit her. She understood Vera’s concern for her and if she had the ability to think straight and in her usual cautious manner, she would have been more cognisant of the inherent risks in bringing Franky Doyle to her. She just had to. Had to see her. Had to hold her, had to feel her. Her mind flicked to the look of despair on Franky’s face. How she wanted to hold her and to tell her that everything was alright. But she knew it wouldn’t be.

Mouth open, she expected to let out an almighty sob. But there was silence. She felt the cool smoothly painted surface of the door pressed against her forehead. She stood, almost suspended in motion until it felt that there was no air left in her lungs to be expelled. Tears were falling from her face, as her left hand, shaking, moved to cover her eyes. She felt her mouth trembling, as her head fell towards the floor.

And then it came. The gut-wrenching inhale which was only inevitable after her body had struggled to exhume all the air in her lungs. As Bridget struggled to control her breath, conscious that there may be people passing outside of her door, her shoulders began to shake uncontrollably as she sobbed silently, intermittently sucking air in as she fought against the tears that threatened to take her voice, her breath and what felt like her very existence.

Bridget turned around, leaning her back against the door and she slid until her toned legs carried her to a seated position. With her knees curled into her chest, she sat, sobbing, not ever recalling when she had ever felt this way. Anger, despair, fear and dread washed over here like waves, each eclipsing the other as she fought to regain her composure.   
She couldn’t believe it. She didn’t want to believe it. She almost didn’t as she replayed Vera’s words in her head and her conversation with Franky as she confronted her about the gun, which she said wasn’t hers. 

She believed her.

Or did she.

No she did. 

Or was it just that she wanted to.

No she did. It just seemed so fucking unbelievable. She knew how it looked. How it would look to the police prosecutors. She had spent enough time in corrections to know that it wasn’t always justice that prevailed. It wasn’t always the bad guy that got caught. It was often whatever was easiest for the prosecution, whoever they could pin it on, using the evidence or even stretching the evidence. Fuck she said under her breath, exhaling as her tried to control her racing pulse. It was the adrenaline that was washing through her which she could feel as it impelled her flight or fight response.

Just utter disbelief. Only yesterday she had being looking up holiday destinations to take Franky away. Given the end of her parole was approaching and Franky would be able to leave the state, she wanted to take Franky away, somewhere to celebrate the milestone of having made it through her parole period. If anyone was deserving of parole, it was Franky Doyle – Bridget recalled her words to the parole board that day. If anyone would survive on the outside – it was Franky Doyle. So what he fuck had happened… Bridget thought to herself.

Bridget knee she was in denial, as the disbelief continued to wash over her. But she knew it was her body’s way of dealing with the shock. Her body’s automatic response to enable her mind to process something so shattering, allowing her brain to compartmentalise and break it down without her knowing. But Bridget knew what was going on.  
And then the waves of guilt washed over her. She couldn’t believe what she had said to Franky and how she had turned and left, even though she heard Franky’s whimper after hearing what Franky would have thought was Bridget giving up on her.

As she tried to process what Franky had just said, her mind started racing. Why had Franky not told her. At the time standing in front of Franky it felt like a betrayal, but she knew it was just Franky being Franky. Fuck. Always wanting to protect those around her. That is what Bridget assumed led her to protect that fucking Shayne kid. Did Franky just want to save everyone because as a child she hasn’t been saved?

As she struggled to get control of her breath, she pictured Franky, walking back to her cell. She contemplated going to find her, but couldn’t. It would be too obvious. If their relationship got out, that would be the end of Bridget’s career, but it would also place a huge target on Franky’s back. She had softened a lot since being released and Bridget worried that some of that toughness that had ensured her survival before had been knocked out of her, making her more vulnerable than before.

Bridget had to ensure that their relationship stayed a secret, fuck, she didn’t actually care about her career. In context now, she just wanted Franky to get out alive… and her.  
She just needed to be where Franky was, to be to be around her, even if she couldn’t be close to her. As she thought about all of the conversations she had with Franky about living separately, being careful about being seen in public together, not only for the sake of ensuring Franky met her parole conditions, but also so that Bridget could continue to practice. There was still more than 12 months to go on her restriction before she could have a relationship with a former patient. But right now, she didn’t give a fuck about her job. She would give it all up now, if it meant that her and Franky Doyle could be home together.

She ached as she realised that wouldn’t now be likely for some time. She knew how the system worked, Everything was stacked against Franky. Up until learning about the DNA, she had thought that Franky had a good chance at being free again. But now. Fuck. Why wasn’t she upfront with the police. She is smarter than that. Fuck. Tears began to fall again as Bridget pictured her life without Franky. She couldn’t. 

The whirlwind that was Franky Doyle that had taken over her life, that had become her life was all she could think of. Bridget loved Franky so fiercely and without conviction and without reservation and hesitation. She knew she had to stand by her. But she couldn’t help but feel defeated.  
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. 

As she sniffed suddenly, Bridget, unsuccessfully attempted convey a composed expression, to sound like she was fine as she responded “Yes, uhhhh can you come back later.. I’m just in the middle of something”. Her voice, heavy, thick and despondent.

“Bridget”, and Bridget recognised the voice immediately “It’s Vera, please open the door”.

A tear escaped from Bridget’s eye, as she put both palms under her eyes touching the bridge of her nose with her index fingers in an attempt to shield her face from any more tears. Why, she did not know, given her face would clearly have been tear stained.

Sniffing again she replied, “Vera.. look it’s not a great time”, having given up trying to conceal the anguish in her voice.

“I..I ..I know that” Vera said in a somewhat stilted voice. Warm and fuzzy was not Vera’s strong point, in fact outward empathy wasn’t either. Vera had good intentions but which often resulted in awkward exchanges on her part. “That’s why I’m here… I … I…. “ Vera trailed off.

Bridget waited, and was somewhat surprised at her insistence “Look Bridget”, Vera’s voice sounded softer from the other side of the door, “I get it. I understand. Please let me in…. as a friend”.

Bridget knew she needed to let her in – both because she was technically her boss, but also, she needed Vera, if she was going to stay working in the prison, which she desperately needed to have what minimal contact she could with Franky, she needed Vera onside. Vera also needed her, the only way they were going to survive managing Joan Ferguson was if they banded together.

“Ohhhhh—kay” Bridget responded in a husky voice as turned towards the door and stood up. She smoothed her shirt and rearranged her jacket, but didn’t even bother with her hair which she knew was tear stained and pressed to the side of her head. She took shaky breath as she opened the door.


	9. Different but the same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is written after episode 3, season 5. This chapter deals with Franky's attack on Bridget - which I know is a sensitive issue for many...

As she lay on the top of their bed, breathing slowly, almost too slowly; she wondered how her life had arrived at this point. 

Was it past the point of no return.

She hadn’t moved since she had sunk into the lofty quilt that covered their bed. Bridget hadn’t even slept there since Franky’s arrest, unable to bring herself to lie in the bed where they had shared some of their most intimate moments over the last near year.

Instead, she had drifted in and out of sleep on their couch, in their lounge room in their house.

Their.

It was the life that they had created together. The life that they shared, their memories, their laughter, their tears, their celebrations, their fights and their make ups. It was ultimately their unwavering commitment to each other that formed the foundation of their relationship and what Bridget had thought, would be their life together.

But was it.

As Bridget lay there, numb, disconnected she wondered if she was even still here. Was this happening? Yes it was. The pain was unbearable, the weight on her chest unbearable, the pit in her stomach, unbearable. She couldn’t even recall the last time she had eaten something, or even finished a cup of tea. 

The feeling of grief, of disbelief that hung over her. Fuck, she didn’t even know what she felt as she searched in her mind for a label, anything to help her process what was happening. She couldn’t.

Her face felt taught, irritated from the tears that had fallen and had continued to fall as she lay there, almost motionless, willing herself to sleep, to dissolve, to….. Anything to avoid her dealing with what had occurred and what this meant her, her relationship with Franky, her career and her life.

It was growing dark as the sun started to set. Bridget had no idea what time it was or how long she had been lying there. She looked around, she normally loved this time of night, but not it felt suffocating. There was no clock in their room as Franky had moved it - she said it always made her anxious clock watching when she woke and couldn’t sleep.

Bridget had deliberately left her phone out in the kitchen. She couldn’t bear speaking to anyone, couldn’t bear being asked questions about what had happened or why she had left work early. She knew Vera knew something was wrong. She had supported Bridget thought her meeting with the ombudsman. Fuck. Bridget couldn’t remember even one thing about the meeting. She had sat there, in what felt like a trance like state, willing herself to interact, to support Vera’s comments and explanation – after all Vera was going out on a limb to back her up, to lie for her, to enable her relationship with Franky. 

Her mind again drifted as she forced herself to sit up. Her upper back was sore and felt bruised. She couldn’t remember if she had hit it against the wall when Franky threw her back or whether it had happened after using all her force to heave Franky’s body off her. But her physical pain was irrelevant.

As she sat and stared into space and thought about what had happened. How and Why. Had it come from nowhere. Yes and No. Was it consistent with a pattern of behaviour. Yes and No. The thoughts whirred around in Bridget’s head. As her partner, Bridget had always made a conscious effort not to analyse Franky’s every move and words. Whilst, to an extent this was impossible given her training and the way in which her brain processed and analysed things as second nature and subconsciously, but, contrary to what many people thought, she did not spend her every waking moment in psychologist mode.

As she got up slowly and smoothed the quilt down, she leaned down to rearrange the pillows and she was hit with Franky’s smell. Again she broke down. Still on her feet, her upper body collapsed onto the bed as she pressed her face into the pillow and breathed in heavily, trying to breathe in any sense of Franky that lingered, the scent of the woman that she loved more than she had ever loved before, for whom she had been willing to give up her life, her career, her friends, the woman who had, hours earlier, thrown her against the wall, pinned her hands, groped her chest, violated her space, but most of all who had broken her heart. Lying with her head on Franky’s pillow, she felt the tears fall as she curled her legs up to her chest and closed her eyes and slowed her breathing to the point where she was barely taking on air.  
Bridget wasn’t blind to the difficulties and the risks of being with Franky. 

She knew, better than anyone, the complexities of a relationship founded in the circumstances that was theirs, which was why there were fucking restrictions around the patient therapist relationship. She had provided specialist advice to recidivist programmes, she knew the high rate of reoffending, the high probability of anger issues surfacing and resurfacing. Had she been blinded by her desire for Franky to succeed? Had she in fact placed too much pressure on Franky. She wanted Franky to experience success and freedom so much, had she not been cognisant to the struggles that she was facing?

She had counselled thousands of people who were victims of domestic violence, she knew about patterns of behaviour, about the cycles, about indicators and predicting behaviours. She went into her relationship with Franky with her eyes open. Or had she? Had she underestimated the personal toll this would take on her, that even with her years of training and experience and she knew she was one of the best psychologists in corrections in Victoria; that nothing could have prepared her to deal with the way Franky attacked her today.

Had she ever been frightened of Franky? No… not before today. She had heard of the legend thst was Franky Doyle as soon as she had started working at Wentworth, but her interactions with her, right from the beginning, had never rung true. She had never been on the receiving end of Franky’s violence, nor did she expect to have been. Had she been naïve to think that she would never be the subject of Franky’s rage, of Franky’s torment…. Or Franky’s despair.

She knew it might appear wrong to accept it, to make excuses for it, to acknowledge the real source of the behaviour. But Bridget could see what Franky was doing, what she had done all her life. Pushing people away was what Franky Doyle did best. As she struggled to come to terms with what Franky had done to her, she understood it. She didn’t like it, but she saw where it came from and how Franky, in her own way, had been trying to protect Bridget. But it still didn’t take away from the fact that Franky had crossed a line, had violated Bridget’s body, her trust and her love.

Bridget was devastated. Broken. Exhausted. 

As she rolled over onto her side, she glanced at a photo of the two of them on the bedside table. Silhouetted, so it wasn’t possible to make out who it was -as any photos on display were- the picture was of the two of them, meandering along the beach at Port Fairy, hand in hand. One of Bridget’s trusted friends who they had met for a drink that afternoon had snapped it whilst they were unawares and had later sent it to Bridget.

How ironic, Bridget thought. That up until this point, they had both been so worried about the impact of their relationship on Bridget’s career. But now she didn’t care. She would get another job. She would visit Franky…. even if it meant visiting her forever.

As she leaned forward to pick up the photo, her eyes followed her wrist, red welts surrounded it like a bracelet. The words that she had told hundreds of patients she had counselled echoed in her mind ... “people who love you don’t do these things”… “it is never your fault”… and what was the absolute advice that she always gave them ….. end your relationship.

But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. 

Sniffing, she sat up. She walked in to the bathroom and stripped off her clothes. She stood and looked at herself in the mirror above the vanity. Her face bore the impact of the day, her eyes showed her exhaustion, her loss. 

Her eyes were drawn to a red mark above her breast. She hadn’t remembered Franky scratching her, but it must have happened at some point as Bridget fought desperately to get Franky away from her. She didn’t want her to cross that line, didn’t want Franky to do it. She knew what Franky was doing from the minute the threw her back into the wall, as much as the disbelief overwhelmed her, she tried so desperately to stop it.. she wanted to stop it for them. Her mind drifted off…

Refocusing her gaze on the mirror, she saw herself reflected, twenty years younger, a swollen jaw, her left eye puffy, bruising over her upper arm and collarbones. She stared back at herself.

It was different this time, she told herself. It was different, but yet still the same.


	10. The Release

Before getting into the car, she arranged a fresh towel on the seat to sit on for the drive home. Her body, still overheated and sweat still freely flowing from her pores shivered a little as the breeze buffered around her legs.

Hot yoga had always been Bridget’s way of dealing with things – life, death, heartbreak, change. Tonight had been one of the first nights she had actually completed every posture in the class rather than lying in a self imposed savansana for much of the class; the set dialogue of the instructor echoing through her mind as she struggled to maintain her composure, trying to ground herself against the yoga mat. Head, shoulders, hips, hands and heels.

Over the last week, she had just aimed to stay in the room. Fighting the every urge to want to leave, to want to run. Fighting that voice that said she was too hot, that her heart was racing too hard, her breath was too shallow, that suffocating feeling of the stifling heat. She had done hundreds of hot yoga classes over the years, yet sometimes, there were days when her practise was off, when every second was a struggle of mind over matter and it was those types of days she had since Franky had been arrested.

She thought back to her practise last night, where she had laid on her back, feet slightly parted and palms open to the ceiling, willing herself to be ok. She needed something like yoga to bring it all to the surface, to make her surrender, to let herself process and to not be ok. But just as it started happen, she panicked. She lay there, her heart beating in her chest, her body sweating profusely and she tried to slow her breath as she talked to herself, ignoring the instructors words as she lead the other yoga participants into the next posture. Then there were the tears. She knew they were coming. She knew she was getting to a point where they wouldn’t stop. As she lay, staring at the heat pads on the ceiling that radiated beams, she let them fall. 

The good thing about yoga, and the hot yoga school that Bridget attended, was that most of the people in the advanced class that she took were so absorbed in their own yoga practise (and if Bridget was honest and slightly unkind, so absorbed in themselves) that they were all oblivious to her silent tears. Bridget lay, eyes closed, trying to suspend herself in a state of release.

Bridget then heard the dialogue of the instructor grow louder, those steady encouraging words and the instructions that she only knew too well. As the words grew louder, she could feel the instructor standing over her and opening her eyes she looked up and met theirs. The instructor cocked her head and her kind face looked into eyes Bridget’s expectantly. Bridget looked back, nodding and pursing her lips as if to say “I’m ok”. Without missing her rhythm, the instructor placed her hand on her heart and nodded her head at Bridget and resumed her walk around and she offered a gentle correction to the girl who always stood in front of Bridget. It made Bridget smile. Most of the instructors who took the classes were lovely and a quite spiritual and had an air of naivety about them that Bridget found quite endearing. 

After class, as she had gathered her bag, the instructor has smiled sweetly at her on her way out and said “yoga gives us what we need… not what we want.. tomorrow will be a new class”. The words had stuck with Bridget and she had returned again tonight”.

As she unscrewed the lid of her drink bottle and popped in a hydration tablet, she listened to the effervescent fizz and watched as the tablet dispersed into the water. Hot yoga was one of the few things that kept her migraines at bay - well mostly – along with her ritual of having a hydration tablet. She wasn’t sure if it was the placebo effect or not, but it worked, and it meant it Bridget kept functioning. She hadn’t had a migraine since Franky had been remanded to Wentworth.. surprising. But it was often when she stopped, when she took a breath and took her foot off the pedal that she would be hit by a semi trailer of a migraine. She took a swig and lifting her head back to the seat, ran her hands though her hair that was glistening with sweat.

As she drove home, she thought of her conversation with Vera and reflected how their somewhat stilted relationship that had nearly been decimated by Vera’s perception of Bridget’s mistrust in her - which was nearly the death of their friendship. And as awkward as Vera was at times, Bridget really liked her and not just because she supported her professionally, but she was a good person at heart. Bridget was also cognisant of the fact she was one of Vera’s only friends. It felt good to know that the women were relying on her – that Vera was relying on her and she was glad that Vera had told her so.

Whist she meant everything she had said to Franky, about getting another job, about coming clean to the board, if she was honest with herself; it was probably more of a knee jerk reaction, more of her reactive thinking than she would have liked. Less of "Measured Bridget", more of "In Love Bridget".

She knew it was important to respect what Franky wanted, which, even though she didn’t agree, she could see Franky’s thought process behind it. It would make for an interesting discussion between them when Franky was out – which was going to happen.

Fuck it was hard and fuck it hurt. Walking past her in the corridor, trying to pretend she wasn’t walking past a piece of her, the piece that was inextricable missing from her life, from everything – from making coffee in the morning, to calling down to her as she left for work, from the little messages they used to send to each other and the feeling of arriving home, seeing the lights on, anticipating the smell that would hit her the minute she would walk in the door of Franky’s culinary crafts. 

And almost on cue, it hit her as she pulled into her driveway. Dark inside. No one was home. There was no Franky, no dinner cooked. There would be no wine open breathing on the bench, no cheeky smile or flash of those eyes, no strong arms pulling her towards home. She just couldn’t shake the feeling that what had been her home for years, even when she had lived there on her own, no longer felt like home without her.

Bridget let out a sigh. Trying to summon the resolve that had followed her as she walked out of the yoga studio. It would be ok. It had to be.

As she got out of the car, she picked up the towel that she had been sitting on, she threw it in the top of her yoga bag and lugged that, along with her clear handbag inside.   
She headed straight for the shower, peeling off her yoga clothes as she walked before dropping them in the laundry and walking naked down the remainder of the hallway. 

After her luke warn shower, she reached for her pyjama bottoms and pulled them over her hips. She noticed that they sat a little lower than usual, most likely testament to the fact that she had eaten very little over the last week and a half since Franky had been arrested. Her slender frame couldn’t really afford her not to eat, she knew she needed to take better care of herself, fuck, she was the one who championed self care in the prison as she encouraged the women to take some time for themselves – which was ironic given that being incarcerated, they had all the time in the world but yet often lost themselves.

After her yoga class last night and the release that followed Bridget had made a deal with herself that she would look after herself better. She needed to eat. She needed to try to sleep. It was ok to cry but fuck she had done a lot of that. She felt like she needed to regain some of that control, that composure that was trademark Bridget, which granted, she often wore like armour, hiding what was crumbling beneath, but she had needed to shuffle a little back from that precipice. It was exhausting operating so close to the wire. She needed to just bring things back, step back, sit back and let the dust settle and come to her rather than trying to capture it. 

Granted it was hard, it was fucking difficult seeing the one thing that was so important to her be enveloped by the anonymity of a soulless teal tracksuit. But she had been told. Fuck it was loud and clear and she had to respect it. If she didn’t she truly risked losing the one thing she couldn’t bear to lose, her Franky Doyle.

She hadn’t seen her for a few days, but today. Today she saw her. Walked past in her fact, in the hallway. To anyone else, it wouldn’t have meant anything. An inmate and a staff member crossing paths, Bridget on her way, hurriedly as she always was around Wentworth. 

To her it meant everything as she recalled the split second she had walked past Franky Doyle’s space. And she knew for Franky it was significant. She glanced back, only for a split second but that was all Bridget needed. Her glare was unfocused, slightly harsh, but it was a glare, it was in Bridget’s direction and she looked back. It sustained Bridget, it wasn’t much but it was enough. Enough to see Bridget through the day. Enough to tell her that she was doing the right thing, that she hadn’t lost Franky, that they were hanging on, even if it was only by a thread.

Fuck she thought as she shook her head and opened the cupboard, searching for Franky’s homemade passata…"when did I become sustained by a just a fleeting half second glance", she thought to herself. She was insatiable when it came to Franky and it was the kind of desire that intoxicated Bridget, that desperate and primal longing to be as close to her as possible, that urge for physical contact. Even with Franky’s fingers inside her, willing her to the most intense orgasm, sometimes she just needed more and she would pull Franky’s body closer to her, press her head into Franky’s neck to immerse herself in Franky’s scent and move harder against Franky’s fingers until she brought to the edge and beyond.

She loved nothing more than to submerse herself in their world where time stood still, yet raced, where they could be surrounded by hundreds, yet oblivious to anyone but each other, or where they could be distanced from each another at a market, yet Bridget immediately knew that Franky was uncomfortable – the way she shifted her weight slightly back to her heels, the way she pursed her lips and lightly blew through them or the way she twisted one of her rings around her finger. They were all signs that Franky had had enough of whatever it was - an open space, a closed space, noise, deafening quiet or she just wanted to be home. 

As she located the jar on the top shelf, which she strained to reach on her tip toes, she smiled as she recalled Franky’s playful teasing whenever she asked Franky to reach something for her in the pantry. Placing the jar on the counter, she looked at the artistic label that Franky had made. Bridget remembered the day that Franky had come home from Legal Relief, beaming as she walked through the doors with trays and trays of tomatoes, slightly underestimating the task that was before her. Bridget loved watching Franky at work in the kitchen - there was something about it, the way she moved around, the way she sometimes hummed under her breath and the look of deep focus and contentment that was often evident on Franky’s face. 

And then it came from nowhere.

Bridget pursed her lips in an attempt to halt the tears as she shut her eyes softly and breathed. She placed her hands in front of her as she hung her head down, tongue on the roof of her mouth in an effort to halt the flow of emotion. Never in her years of practising as a psychologist had she used so many of her own techniques on herself. A few tears strayed from her eyes as Bridget tried to focus, to bring herself into the present, and she watched the pasta slowly soften in the boiling water.

She stood there. 

She was ok. 

She tried to think about dinner. She was determined to eat and she would make extra to take to work tomorrow – that way she would make sure she ate lunch. 

She let out a staggered breath, lips pursed, as her mind started to skip and race ahead to the coming months. Vera had told her that Franky’s committal hearing had been brought forward, which Bridget knew was never a could thing. It meant the prosecution didn’t need any more time to gather their evidence or they were satisfied as to the evidence they had – even if it didn’t stack up she knew how they all worked, they were lazy as fuck and were often just after a conviction. Near enough was good enough.

Speaking of evidence and the lazy as fuck police, Bridget’s mind then wandered. She needed to arrange a session with Liz. She wanted to find out what the fuck had gone wrong. She didn’t trust that Don guy that the police had sent in and whilst Bridget hated the smell of men’s aftershave at the best of times, the smell that lingered in Bridget’s office seemed to permeate it for the rest of the day, so much so that she had even taken to spraying her perfume around after they had used her office.

Again her mind flicked back to Franky. Why oh fucking why had she sacked Pierce. She knew he was an arrogant prick as many barristers were – fuck Franky, you didn’t have to like him. But then then she knew Franky did. Franky was so genuine in her interactions with everyone, especially with her work, it was important for her that her clients knew she was on their team and if someone wasn't on hers. Fuck them. 

She thought back to one of her conversations with Fessler, Franky’s boss. Bridget didn’t know her particularly well, but knew enough to know that she liked her. She couldn’t help but wish Franky had listened to Fessler’s somewhat ironic prediction about her involvement with Shane, as Fessler’s words played in her head “I told her… you just gotta be careful with those kids, it’s the ones that you stick your neck out for, they are the ones that break your heart”. So true Bridget thought. Both Franky’s and hers. 

Letting the pasta sit to cool, she reached into the cupboard for a wine glass which she placed on the bench. Just the one glass. She often had arrived home to two wine glasses on the bench, wine poured, already breathing. Now there was just one glass. One solitary stem. As she took a sip and held the bold mouvedre in her mouth before swallowing. It suddenly dawned on her that she hadn’t eaten all day .. and had just done yoga so inhaling her glass as she had often been doing was not the best move.

She padded over to the couch, wine and pasta in hand and settled herself, cross legged with the television on and no sound. She then returned to the kitchen bench to retrieve her phone – which she always kept on her. What if Franky needed her. She knew that Franky couldn’t call her – all of their phone calls were recorded. But she knew that Vera would ring her. A few times this week when Vera had needed to speak to her after hours, her stomach had lurched as soon as she saw Vera’s name come up on the screen. Being apart from Franky was bad enough, but she was in fucking Wentworth. Franky had told her many stories, which after working in corrections for more than twenty years shouldn’t have shocked her but they did. 

She had to remember, she thought to herself, she felt like she had lost Franky, even temporarily, but Franky had lost everything – her home, her job, her life and her freedom that she had fought so hard for. But she hadn’t lost her Gidget and Bridget would make sure she knew that.

Pasta. Wine. TV. Bed. 

She could do it. She was ok. Even if she wasn't, she would be.


	11. Breaking Point

She thought back to her conversation with Vera on Thursday afternoon. Vera had asked her into her office under the guide of discussing the women’s group sessions and whether Bridget was picking up on any underlying tensions between the women, whether she anticipated a shift of power as they all knew that Kaz’s “no violence” policy was not going to cut it for much longer.

She had felt a million miles away. She may as well have been. As she walked in and stood opposite Vera’s desk, she grabbed hold of the top of her suit pants which were becoming looser by the day and rearranged them as she sat down. Vera had walked around the side of the desk to place her hand on Bridget’s shoulder. Bridget jumped, not having been aware of Vera’s movement, feeling as if life was whirring before her, but in slow motion. Existing in suspended animation.

“Bridget…” Vera probed softly.

“Mmmm” responded Bridget, her eyes cast obviously downwards as she placed her thumb and index finger on the desk in front in an attempt to ground her. She knew she was not here to talk about Kaz Proctor.

“Look Bridget.. I know that things are very difficult for you right now and … look please don’t take this the wrong way… but I really think you need to take some time off. Some time away from here”.

Pursing her lips, Bridget said nothing, eyes still downcast. She did not want to dissolve in Vera’s office. 

Silence filled the room until Vera, considering it now to be an uncomfortable silence, interjected .

“It’s just that …. well … I’m sorry to be frank.. but you just don’t look like you are coping”.

Bridget nodded as a tear escaped from her eye, almost hurriedly as if it knew it wasn’t meant to, as her hand went to brush it away after it had already fallen.  
Vera moved closer, crouching down and ducking her head in an attempt to make eye contact with Bridget.

“Bridget as your friend… I am worried about you”, Vera said. Then in a more formal tone added “But as your boss, I have a responsibility for you and a duty of care over you. I am worried, you aren’t yourself. This place is dangerous at the best of times and you are in a vulnerable position with the women. If anything were to happen to you.. I..” Vera trailed off.

Bridget finally met her gaze, unable to speak, she simply mouthed the words “I know”. She felt fractured and she knew it was etched all over her face as he watched Vera’s response as she looked kindly at Bridget but she knew from Vera’s reaction that she must have looked a mess. It was Franky’s greatest fear everyday and it was also hers. She was exposed, she was vulnerable; but it was what was needed to make a connection with the women. How could she ever expect them to open up and let their guard down if she didn’t do the same. Bridget sniffed and looked back at Vera. 

“So..”, Vera paused, before continuing “….as your boss, I am placing you on personal leave for the next two days. You can come back in on Monday if you are feeling up to it, but if you aren’t then don’t”. 

Before Bridget could interject, anticipating her reaction Vera added “I have the external psych coming in to cover your days. He isn’t you, but he should do in case we get into any troubles”.

“Thankyou” Bridget said, clearing her throat. Fuck Vera was right. She walked these corridors wearing her measured façade, as was expected of her but the minute she was able to drop back, to relax, she crumbled. She knew she was exhausted. Maybe those few days were what she needed. 

But she would be back on Monday, nothing surer. Well that is what she had thought at the time. 

She had never taken sick leave without being sick. Personal leave, sick leave, annual leave whatever you wanted to call it. The name was trivial to all except the HR department.

She had never not been able to do her job.

She didn’t even know what day it was. What time it was. How long she had been in that room. Their room. She hadn’t even been back on Monday. She hadn’t even telephoned Vera to let her know. What was she doing? How had she gotten to this point.? She recalled dragging herself to the shower on Saturday morning, only to return back to bed.  
Since then, she had only gotten out of bed to go to the bathroom and to fill up her water bottle – which she did from the bathroom tap, despite the fact she despised the taste of unfiltered water. Well normally she did. 

She thought that things had been OK. She thought that she would be OK. At the time, she was - well given the circumstances. She was able to find Franky, to ask her whether she had played any role in the accident with the brawler, even though she already knew the answer. 

What else had Franky been doing in the garage. She new Franky had lied to her. But the thing was, it didn’t even matter anymore. At what point did it reach this? Bridget thought to herself. She didn’t even know why she asked the question of Franky. Was she hoping she would be honest with Bridget? - not likely, given Franky’s communications with her had been a series of mistruths, omissions, whatever label you wanted to put on them, at the end of the day they were lies. 

She also knew that Franky wouldn’t want to tell her for fear of implicating her… or was Bridget just making excuses. Trying to rationalise behaviour which, of anyone else she wouldn’t have stood for or in a professional setting utterly advised against. But she didn’t. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. And it wasn’t just love. Bridget had fallen in and out of love before, but it had never been like this. This was different. Commitment. Existence on a different level. Her thoughts were a constant minefield, a battle of what she knew on an intellectual level about Franky as opposed to what she felt on an emotional level. But the dichotomy was just that. 

Whilst on the one hand, all signs pointed to a destructive relationship that was being approached by Franky with reckless abandonment, she could see that it was in fact the opposite. Had it not been for her significant level of understanding of Franky’s thought processes to date, she would have been out long ago. 

Since Franky had been arrested, she had hated sleeping in their room. But when she arrived home that Friday, that is all she wanted to do. She had wanted to shut herself away from the world. Away from feeling. She felt too much. It was almost unbearable and all consuming and she hated it. She couldn’t function. She couldn’t breathe.

What had she done since Thursday night? She didn’t actually know. Existed in this room. Drifted from a state of asleep to awake and hovered in between. She still reached out for Franky subconsciously in her sleep, moving her arm over to where she expected her to be, or inching her body, anticipating the warmth that should have been radiating from Franky’s body, but to be met with nothing but that arresting feeling when she roused and orientated herself and realised that she was not there. She then tried to will herself back to her state of at least semi sleep, where she was less aware, less fractured and it was easier to block out, she yearned with her mind to take her to Franky, to transport her if only in her subconscious.

She had cried a lot. But that had been in the beginning, or so she thought. But all the days melded into one continuous time period. Now she felt completely numb, disassociated. As she sat up, her head spun. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and waited a few moments as she often asked the women to do if they had been sedated in medical, just to allow them to get their footing. 

She reached over to the beside table to get her phone and she saw that the photo of her and Franky wasn’t there and she momentarily panicked. But she then remembered at some point grabbing the photo and shining the light on her phone to look at it. It must have been during one night as even with the curtains drawn during the day, enough light still filtered into the room. But she couldn’t recall. Scanning, her eyes darted over the bed, where was it?… she could feel the panic rising. She then spied in her peripheral vision, the photograph in its frame, sitting in their plush quilt, almost like a little hollow amongst the loftiness of the down and she felt relieved. Its just a photo Bridget, breath… she thought to herself as she felt the anxiety creeping. It suddenly dawned on her that Franky didn’t have a photo of her, had nothing of hers in her cell. Bridget at least had her what remained of her life, which seemed redundant without Franky in it. 

She thought back to Franky’s words “I’m alone in here Gidge” and the look of desperation in Franky’s eyes settled in her mind and the pit of her stomach. It killed Bridget to see her like that, to know that she was so desperate that she was willing to do a ridiculous thing like attempt to escape. Franky wasn’t alone, but that was how she felt and that was what mattered.

As her open palms rubbed over her face, she paused her index finger over the indentation right below above eye sockets, near the bridge of her nose; just where her eyebrows started. She could feel what she thought was a migraine starting… or maybe it had manifested itself earlier. It was no doubt her typical migraine, the one that started after the release of the stress and tension, after the body and mind had said “no more” as it attempted to impose a shut down on Bridget’s body.

She thought back to the crippling sadness and utter devastation that had wracked her body as she stood opposite Franky, trying to make Franky promise that she would never do it again. When Franky couldn’t even meet Bridget’s eyes, until she had coaxed her, inch by inch with her words, which were as steady as she could make them as she, herself, was using every fibre of her being not to fall apart.

Until she did.

And she couldn’t hold on any more.

Everyone, even Bridget, has a breaking point.

What a fucking mess.

As she took her phone and unplugged it, the screen lit up and she checked her notifications - text messages, missed calls and voicemails. Not surprising since she had been out of touch with the world since Friday night. She took a breath as she steadied herself on her feet and went to walk over to the window to draw the curtains.

Shielding her eyes slightly, she saw it was daylight. She looked again at her phone. It was early afternoon. And it was Tuesday. So much for her plans to have gone back to work.  
Walking to the kitchen, she started to flick through the text messages. She had missed her hair appointment on Saturday … a friend cancelling drinks on Sunday night, that Bridget obviously had no intention of going to nor was she even aware that she had missed. The odd text from Vera and by the looks, Vera had been around to check on her last night?  
She then started on her voicemails – most of which were Vera, just wanting to check on her, and Bridget smiled as the messages became increasingly less about Vera being proper and trying to sound casual and not wanting to pry, to more about Vera’s insistence that Bridget telephone her. She started to skip through them .

“Hi Bridget,, Its just Vera again”…. . Delete.

“Hi it’s Vera, I’m just calling to check on you and to ehhh”. Delete.

“Umm yes,, hello Bridget.. look do I need to say its Governor Bennett to get you to return my…”.

Bridget deleted message after message.

Until she came to one message. 

She almost deleted it, but she stopped when she heard that voice. 

It was unmistakable. The effect that it had on her was unmistakable.

As she stood barefoot in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, it was the voice that took her breath away, that made her heart race, her breathe faster, her stomach turn.  
She listened the first time, not paying any attention to the words, wanting the voice to trickle over her like a stream tripping and falling and she shut her eyes and willed her lover to be standing in front of her, holding her face, pulling her lips towards her for a kiss and feeling her strong, warm body pressed against hers. The voice then trailed off.  
“Press 4 to hear the message again” the automated voicemail service barked, as Bridget scrambled at the key pad, not wanting to press the wrong button and delete it.

Silence.

Then it started again.

“Ummm, Hi Gidge.. it’s me… um Franky”. 

Bridget could hear that Franky sound almost nervous, almost shy, and that fact that she had announced who it was made Bridget ache. She hoped to God she wasn’t standing in the phone line making this call, she would be a target and her phone records would no doubt be subpoenaed by the prosecution as part of their case to see who she had made contact with before her hearing.

“Don’t go getting all worried, I’m making this call from Miss Bennett’s mobile” she heard Franky say, as if she had read her mind “she let me, she’s right here actually holding the fucking phone.. ha ha!” Bridget could hear Franky’s nervous laugh, but also she sensed a real uneasiness in her tone.

“Umm Gidget, I’m just, it’s…” she could hear Franky’s voice break. Bridget put her own hand over her mouth in an effort to stem her emotion from spilling out as she listened.

“I’m just really worried about ya… Miss Bennett just says you are on leave but she won’t tell me jack shiii… I mean won’t tell me anymore…” Franky added, sniffing down the phone. Bridget could picture her with the sleeves of her Teal hoodie pulled over her hand and she wiped her nose.

Bridget then heard a muffled “ohh narrrr it’s not like I’m having a go...I’m just telling Gidget”, in Franky’s “polite” voice and Bridget imagined Franky feeling like she had to quickly explain to Vera in case the completely inappropriate privilege of being able to call Bridget was promptly ended.

“Look I don’t even know what I want to tell ya… it’s just that … I know you’re at home because of me”, she heard Franky’s voice break an tears started to swell in her own eyes and she closed them so she could focus on Franky’s voice.

“And.. look.. I just wanted to tell you.. that I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I’m so sorry for everything Gidget… and I am gonna make it better… it ok… I will, I promise ya…”  
Then her voice trailed off, she heard muffled speaking which she thought sounded like Vera “Franky… are you finished… Franky, are you ok?? Franky… here sit down... it’s ok”.

Then nothing.

She replayed the message again and again. She wanted to hear Franky’s voice, but there was something about Franky’s apology. It made Bridget panic. Something about her voice, she knew she was upset, but she knew that voice. The promise.

Before she knew it, she was dialling Vera’s private mobile, it was 2.30 in the afternoon, she wasn’t sure she was going to answer it, but she sure as hell wasn’t about to have a conversation with her about Franky over the monitored Wentworth phone lines.

“Finally” Bridget was met with Vera’s somewhat abrupt answer.

“Ohh, Hi Vera”, Bridget said softly, almost guiltily, acutely aware of the numerous voicemail and text messages that Vera had sent which had gone unanswered.

“Well are you ok…?” Vera said somewhat incredulously down the phone. “Where are you? I came over to your house last night but there wasn’t any answer…” Vera trailed off.

“Oh yeah.. look I’m ok” Bridget said unconvincingly. 

“I’ve been worried sick about you” and lowering her voice Vera added “and so has Franky”. Bridget smiled at the fact that Vera still referred to her as Franky and not Doyle, despite the fact that it had taken months of Franky being on the outside for Vera to do so.

“Look, I’m sorry about the rather…. unorthodox message from her” Vera said referring to the voicemail she had heard which had spurred her to call Vera. 

Again lowering her voice and speaking almost in a hiss “but she demanded an appointment with me and burst in wanting to know where you were.. I obviously didn’t tell her that I had put you on leave, but when I told her you were having some time off, she just dissolved…. into a heap.. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a prisoner do that. Like that. Ever… and certainly not Franky…” Vera added, sounding almost perplexed at Franky’s behaviour. Which wasn’t news to Bridget as she knew her intimately, and a wave of nausea swept over her as she pictured Franky in Vera’s office where Bridget been sitting just days before.

“She then refused to leave my office until I let her telephone you… I told her that you weren’t answering your phone, but she didn’t care. So in the end I just let her... she is relentless that one” Vera quipped.

“Is she ok?” Bridget asked.

“Well I think so” Vera replied matter of factly. “She was just so desperate to talk to you, which is why I finally agreed… And don’t worry it was all on my phone”, Vera added.

“Thank you Vera, look I really appreciate it. Ummm…. where is she now?” Bridget asked curiously

“Where is she??” Vera replied a little surprised, “….look I don’t keep personal tabs on her Bridget…I’ve got a prison to run”.

“No of course not” Bridget responded slightly embarrassed. 

“But funnily enough, I think I do know. She was in the library about half an hour ago when I walked past... working on her defence she said, when she left my office yesterday she asked to be excused from her garden duties and I agreed…. She said something about a new date for her committal hearing and she wanted to prepare for the prosecution presenting their evidence”, Vera said thoughtfully.

“OK” Bridget responded simply. Something didn’t sit right with Bridget, the way Franky had apologised. Said everything would be OK.

“Hey” suddenly feeling guilty for ignoring Vera’s cacophony of messages “Would you like to come over for dinner tonight… nothing fancy.. just some take away?” Bridget asked as a bit of a peace offering.

“Yeah, actually.. that would be nice” Vera replied, who unbeknownst to Bridget, had been rain checked by Jake that night as he needed to meet with his microbrewery mates, or so he had told Vera.

“OK great.. well just come by after work” Bridget said.

Vera didn’t respond. Bridget could hear muffled speech in the background.

“She is what???… no I excused her from garden duty this afternoon…. well fucking I don’t know….you tell me … that is your job” she heard Vera spit at someone.

Bridget’s heart started to race.

More scuffling.

“Look Bridget… I have to go” Vera said urgently down the phone.

“Well are you still coming for dinner?” Bridget asked, desperate to keep Vera on the phone and to find out what was happening. 

“I’ll let you know”. Bridget could tell Vera was yelling, over the noise, over the siren that was blaring. She knew what that meant.

Wentworth was in lockdown.

**Author's Note:**

> Thankyou for reading! I would appreciate any comments and constructive criticism (Be kind!! :) )


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